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'^HE INWARD LIGHT 



THE INWARD LIGHT 

A Drama m Four Acts 



BY 
ALLAN DA\1S axd ANNA R. STRATTON 



•'The reader will not fail to observe 

frequent instances of two or more persons join- 
ing in the composition of the same play (the 
noble practice of those times) " 

From the Preface to "Specimens of 
£!nglish Dramatic Poets" hy Charles Lamb. 




NEW YORK 
ALFRED • A • KXOPF 

MCMXIX 



COPYRIGHT, 1918, 1919, 
BY ALLAN DAVIS 

All rights reserved 



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uhu I7'19!9 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



!CI.A56l000 



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TO 
JOSEPH HERGESHEIMER 

FOR THE FAITHFULNESS AND BEAUTY 
OF HIS WRITINGS 



So much the rather thou Celestial Light 
Shine inward. . . ." 

John Milton^ 
" Paradise Lost/' Book III 



INTRODUCTION 

The fire which destroyed the home of the late James 
A. Heme destroyed the only existing manuscript of 
" The Reverend Griffith Davenport/' a play which to 
those of us who remember it from its too brief term on 
the stage seemed the first drama written about our Civil 
War on a sustained plane of spiritual seriousness worthy 
of the theme. Certainly such a play as " Secret Serv- 
ice " can hardly be recommended for spiritual serious- 
ness, however theatrically effective it is — or was. Mr. 
Heme's play, as we recall it, was not a battle of wits, 
still less of guns, but of principles and moral passions. 
That may, perhaps, in part account for its failure in the 
theatre, where neither the causes nor the effects of war 
seem to intrigue the crowd, but only its romantic excite- 
ments. History, however, cannot be written by a record 
of romantic excitements, nor can historical drama. Fur- 
thermore, it is not in the physical action but in the 
spiritual and moral reaction that the true worth and 
beauty of any event is found, or its true measure of fu- 
tility. It has been, unfortunately, a reproach of Ameri- 
can drama that our stage over-emphasizes physical bus- 
tle, thus failing adequately to represent our history even 
when it makes the attempt; and, lacking an emphasis on 
things of the spirit, it lacks the depth of moral passion 
and the beauty of exaltation. 

If only for these reasons, then, I have been greatly 
interested in reading " The Inward Light," for here is a 
drama in which, amidst an authentic setting of Pennsyl- 
vania Colonial (a Colonial that persisted in its purity 

7 



8 Introduction 

among the Friends long after the 19th century had 
forever rubbed off its bloom elsewhere) ;, we find the ter- 
rible fact of the Civil War stabbing the hearts and 
consciences of high-minded men and women, by every 
instinct of heredity and training opposed to war ; and by 
the very extent and passion of their reactions, we gain 
such a realization of the struggle, and all it meant to our 
fathers, as no display of uniforms, and spies, and cap- 
tured telegrams, and ofF-stage musket fire, could pos- 
sibly achieve. Moreover, because the play deals with 
deep, spiritual passions (and also because the characters 
are, with perfect propriety, allowed to use the language 
of the English Bible, instead of the patter of that mono- 
syllabic person, " the man in the street "), we have here 
a sustained elevation of mood, a sense of exaltation and of 
beauty. We have a drama, in short, which in style and 
feeling is worthy of the great historical event one phase 
of which it exhibits, thus by implication illuminating the 
whole. 

It will be quite apparent to the reader, however, that 
" The Inward Light " would hardly have been written, 
perhaps, had the world not been passing through a 
vaster war — a civil war, also, to those who dream the 
dream of the Federation of Nations ! The tragedy of the 
individual conscience opposed to the world is an old one, 
it is poignant with drama, and has often been employed 
by the dramatists. Ibsen's " An Enemy of the People " 
is a case in point. But at no time, perhaps, is the trag- 
edy so poignant as in the crisis of war, when mob passion 
is aflame, reason and kindliness and tolerance are 
dimmed, and, if the newspapers and orators are to be 
believed, conscience doth indeed " make cowards of us 
all " who oppose the herd. The pitiful and splendid 
figure of the old Quaker, David, in this play, sacrificing 
his fortune, his happiness, tearing out his heart and 
breaking it, rather than yield one jot of his convictions, 
standing tragically to the bitter end by his faith in his 



Introduction 9 

religion of non-resistance, by his spiritual abhorrence of 
war, is a figure of noble proportions — it has something 
of the grand style only historical perspective, with its 
enlarging haze, can perhaps impart. Yet it is a figure 
that in a thousand variations can be in some sense 
duplicated in our day, and will be duplicated as long as 
mankind are capable both of warring on their fellows 
and of dreaming great dreams of peace. The relation 
of the individual to the state, the dual claims of society 
and conscience, are not argued in this drama. We have 
no idea from reading it what the convictions of the 
authors are. But they have so presented a moral con- 
flict, a spiritual tragedy, conscience battling with happi- 
ness in the crisis of war, that we sense the depth and 
poignancy and everlasting dignity of such conflict and 
tragedy. They have shown, by implication, whatever 
worth war has must be sought in the ideals that inspire 
and, even more, that follow it, and the test of faith to be 
in that terrible conflict between comfort and conscience, 
between the world and the vision. It has been a sad in- 
dictment of us all these past few years that we have 
not treated convictions with respect when they ran 
counter to our own, that we have a little mislaid the pro- 
found regard for conscience which once was a corner- 
stone of our republic — or, at least, so we have been 
taught. It has been a sad indictment of our drama, 
too, that it has so persistently, and often so flashily, 
ignored the deeper things of the spirit. " The Inward 
Light " makes plain the heroic beauty of a true struggle 
of conscience, and hazards its all on a spiritual theme. 

Walter Prichard Eaton 
Twin Fires 
Sheffield 
Massachusetts. 



THE INWARD LIGHT 

Oh army-clad^ our country, if again 
The battle thunders where your banners stream, 
The sons of Lincoln shall not fight in vain — 
Led by the Great Emancipator's Dream. 



CHARACTERS IN THE PLAY 
IN THE ORDER OF THEIR APPEARANCE 

Gladius Brown^ David Worthington's butler, an ancient 
negro, formerly a slave. 

Jonathan Lewis, fifty, Clerk of the Meeting. 

Mehitabel Evans, twenty-five. 

Caleb Scattergood, sixty-eight, Joseph Baring's uncle. 

Isaac Pettigrew, fifty-two. 

Priscilla Baring, seventeen, Joseph Baring's sister. 

Benjamin Worthington, nineteen, David Worthing- 
ton's son. 

Peter Alderman, forty-five, David Worthington's part- 
ner. 

Rachel Worthington, twenty-four, David Worthing- 
ton's daughter. 

David Worthington, fifty-five, manufacturer, and ad- 
vocate of Peace. 

Joseph Baring, thirty-three, a member of the State Leg- 
islature. 

Harmony Lightfoot, a little girl of seven, Joseph 
Baring's niece. 

William Penn Lightfoot, a little boy of five, Joseph 
Baring's nephew. 

King Solomon, a rough-haired collie. 



PLACE 
Berks County^ Pennsylvania. 

TIME 
1861 

ACT I 

The lawn before David Worthington's home. 
The late afternoon of Seventh Day (Saturday), April 
13, 1861. 

ACT II 

The living-room of the Baring home. 

The evening of Fifth Day (Thursday), July 11. 

ACT III 

The drawing-room of the Worthington home. 
Ten days later — the early evening of First Day 
(Sunday), July 21. 

ACT IV 

The Meeting House. 

Ten days later — the afternoon of Fourth Day (Wed- 
nesday), July 31. 

(Note on the dialogue: The younger people of the 
play use archaic and contemporary expressions inter- 
changeably, depending on the person to whom they are 
speaking and the depth of their emotions. The older 
characters generally preserve more uniformity in their 
address.) 

(The stage directions are from the point of view of 
the actor.) 



ACT I 



THE INWARD LIGHT 



ACT I 

Scene: The lawn before David Worthington's 
home in the late afternoon of Seventh Day, Saturday, 
April IS, 1861. 

The fagade of a colonial mansion is seen at the left. 
The main entrance to the house is down stage. It is 
a mahogany door beneath a small portico of slender 
Ionic columns, forming a hooded space, or stoop, from 
which a few steps, with an iron scroll railing of delicate 
workmanship, lead to the ground. On the outer side of 
both of the iron railings, a hedge has been trained to 
follow their elevation up to the house. Above the steps 
in the wall are two fine, small-paned windows with semi- 
circular tops. Along the bach is a brick and sandstone 
fence, higher than a man's head, largely covered with 
Virginia creepers, which encloses the grounds. Parallel 
to the fence on the outer side is supposed to be the road- 
way. At the centre of the fence, an iron gate of the 
same delicate workmanship as the scroll railings of the 
steps opens onto the lawn. 

Outside on the roadway, just at the left of the gate, 
is a notably fine scarlet oak. A great limb of it extends 
over the fence and above part of the lawn at the 
rear. Elms dot the well-kept grounds to the right, 
with clumps of shrubs marking the paths between 
them. Beside the steps, on their upper side, is an old 
lilac bush almost as large as a small tree. Nearer the 
centre is a sun-dial of weathered pink marble. A gor- 
geously budding red maple is near the front of the stage 
at the right of the centre. Beneath its branches a semi-- 

19 



20 The Inward Light 

circular tree-bench cur'ves on either side of the trunk. 
Carelessly draped on the hack of the bench is a Persian 
shawl. In front of the bench is an embroidery stand 
with two chairs, left and right respectively. Farther to 
the left of the bench is a patriarchal rustic arm-chair. 

The grounds are exquisite in their stillness and the 
pale apple-green and vermilion of early foliage. They 
denote the hand of loving care and the dignity of a fine 
simplicity . It is the home of a rich man whose posses- 
sions are his servants, not his master; and it bespeaks 
a character of austere and lofty serenity. 

The sunlight falls in mottled splashes of golden light 
and shade upon the ground. Occasionally fleecy clouds 
passing overhead vary the position of the shadows and 
the spaces of light. 

As the curtain rises the stage remains empty for a few 
mornents while the song of a cardinal floats up sweetly 
from the trees at the right. Then the door of the house 
opens, and Gladius Brown^ David Worthington's but- 
ler, comes out upon the stoop. His garments are a 
Prince Albert coat, waistcoat and trousers, not well-fit- 
ting but clean, and his linen is spotless. He has a meek, 
careworn face. His hair and straggling Moorish beard 
are tinged with grey. For a moment he stands silent as 
if tranced by the singing and serenity, his bent form 
straightening out in the slanting ray of amber sunlight 
that rests upon him. Then he comes down the steps of 
the house onto the lawn, and crosses to the tree-bench 
at the right of the centre, where he secures the shawl 
and lays it over his arm. 

As he turns as if to go back to the house, Jonathan 
Lewis enters from the gate at the back. He is a short, 
stoutish man with a florid complexion, and the manner of 
one who enjoys living. His voice is rich and full as be- 
comes a clerk of the Meeting. He is clad in the cus- 
tomary garb of the Friends, a long, black, single-breasted 



The Inward Light 21 

coat which is collarless, long dark trousers, and a broad, 
flat-brimmed felt hat. 

Jonathan [as he comes down towards the centre]. 
Ah, Gladius. 

Gladius [left of centre]. Ah trust yo' finds yo'self 
well, Marse Lewis. 

Jonathan [kindly]. Not Master Lewis, Gladius. 
Just Jonathan. The mode of address among the Friends 
is by the first name only, 

Gladius. Yassah, Marse David he done tole me so. 
But Ah fergits. Ah asks yo' pardon. 

Jonathan. Is David at home.^ 

Gladius. No, sah. Miss Rachel she say he comin' 
soon wif Marse Joseph. 

Jonathan [moving to the tree-bench]. I'll wait for 
him here. 

Gladius. Kin Ah git yo' anything, Marse Lewis? 

Jonathan [smiling]. No, I thank thee, Gladius. 
[He sits down on the bench.] 

Gladius. Yassah, Marse Lewis. 

[Gladius goes up the steps. As he reaches the land- 
ing, the door opens from within, and Mehitabel Evans 
comes out upon the stoop. She is twenty-five, a comely 
slender woman with the arched, distant gaze of the 
imaginative and visionary. Her garb is the full skirt 
and simple bodice of the customary Quaker dress, its 
fabric of soft grey silk.] 

Mehitabel [considerately to the old man]. Rachel 
was asking for thee, Gladius. 

Gladius. Yass'm, Ah has her shawl. [He goes into 
the house.] 

Mehitabel [catching sight of Jonathan]. Jon- 
athan. 

Jonathan [rising as she comes down the steps, but 
not removing his hat]. How does thee do, Mehitabel? 
David's not home, I understand. 



22 i The Inward Light 

Mehitabel. No, but Rachel expects him momently 
with Joseph. — I could not remain indoors for thinking of 
the bombardment. Has thee heard anything more ? 

Jonathan [optimistically]. No. But Sumter's im- 
pregnable, and the reinforcements must have arrived. 

Mehitabel. Thirty-six hours! How will it end? 

Jonathan. Thee must be patient, Mehitabel. He 
who hath in His keeping the fall of a sparrow and the 
destiny of nations will order all rightly. 

[Caleb Scattergood enters at the gate. He is a man 
of about sixty-eight, his hair a silvery grey. Time and 
trial and his own heart have made him mellow and hu- 
mane without impairing his whimsical simplicity. He is 
a figure of dignity and charm with a quiet humour. He 
also is clad in the customary garb of the Friends, but 
more richly and finely than Jonathan.] 

Mehitabel [left of centre]. Ah, Caleb. 

Caleb [coming down centre]. I am glad to see thee, 
Mehitabel. [Seeing Jonathan.] And thee, Jonathan. 
Only Isaac is lacking to make up the number of our 
committee. 

Jonathan. Let us await him here. David has not 
yet arrived. 

Caleb. Does thee think the price offered for the 
Meeting House property is adequate } 

Jonathan. I do not know. But David will when 
he comes. 

Mehitabel [to Caleb]. Thee does not apprehend 
much trouble in putting down the rebellion? 

Caleb [gravely]. The South has taken the other 
forts without a struggle. Sumter is the first to offer 
resistance. 

Mehitabel. David believes that compromise may 
win, and war be averted. 

Caleb [dubiously]. Joseph is not so sure. 



The Inward Light 23 

Jonathan [thoughtfully']. And Joseph is nearer the 
heart of things. 

Caleb. Ay^ his position in the Legislature brings 
him into touch with the leaders. 

Mehitabel. His father's mantle has surely fallen on 
Joseph. 

Caleb [sweetly]. To tell the truths Mehitabel, some- 
times I wonder if that splendid young man can be the 
nephew of such a barren stock as I. 

Jonathan. Joseph will carry the standard of the 
Friends to a loftier height than even David has borne it. 

Caleb. Ay, when I see David and Joseph together, 
it seems to me as if the past of the Friends were walking 
arm in arm with their future. 

[From the door of the house enters Priscilla Baring, 
a lovely young girl of seventeen with hair of golden 
chestnut. Her costume is more Worldly than Quaker: 
cream-coloured crepe tinged with pale lavender, and worn 
over an expansive crinoline. Her manner likewise hov- 
ers between the two schools, at times quaintly sedate and 
at times quite elfin or buoyantly extravagant.] 

Priscilla. Well, Uncle Caleb! 

Caleb [looking up at her as she stands on the stoop]. 
Well, Priscilla.^ 

Priscilla. Is thee glad to see me? And is thee 
very proud of thy Priscilla in all the glory of her 
Worldly apparel? 

Caleb. No, I am not. Thee is an ugly duckling. 

Priscilla [skipping down the steps and running over 
to him]. I dare thee to say before these witnesses that 
thee does not love me very much. [She throws her arms 
around his neck.] [To Mehitabel and Jonathan.] 
Watch him closely. 

Caleb [scandalized]. Release me, abandoned child! 

Priscilla. Not until thee kiss me. 

Caleb [firmly]. Never. 



24 The Inward Light 

Priscilla. Then will I kiss thee. [She does so to 
the amusement of Mehitabel and Jonathan.] 

Caleb [holding her in his arms a moment — tenderly^. 
Thee is a froward female. 

Priscilla [to Mehitabel]. Rachel hath sent me for 
thee. Are thy fears about Sumter at rest^ oh Mistress 
Calamity } 

Mehitabel. Do not be so annoying, Priscilla. 

Priscilla [to the two men]. Really she quite upset 
Rachel and me and the children and even King Solomon. 

Jonathan. Who is King Solomon? 

Priscilla. Our new collie dog. [They laugh.] 
What is the latest news ? 

Mehitabel. There is none. 

Priscilla. There! I told thee! — I shall rejoin 
Rachel. For of a surety I must not leave those angel 
darlings and that heavenly canine. 

[As she runs lightly up the steps Isaac Pettigrew 
enters at the gate. He is a tall man and, unlike Caleb, 
and much unlike Jonathan, is reserved in manner al- 
most to austerity. The singleness of his belief, notwith- 
standing, makes him a figure to be respected. He also 
wears the Quaker garb, although he is not so carefully 
attired as Caleb.) 

Isaac [addressing no one in particular]. Is David at 
home? 

Priscilla. Nay, Isaac. Like most wise men he stays 
away from home as much as possible. 

Caleb. Pray overlook my niece's levity, Isaac. The 
three of us will wait on David together. 

[Off-stage is heard string music and a song of com- 
mingled voices, soft and sweet in the quiet afternoon.] 

Mehitabel. What's that? 

Priscilla. Some strolling gipsies who have been 
flavouring this sour neighbourhood with their sweet 
music. 



The Inward Light 25 

Caleb. Spring brings them forth like the bluets or 
anemones. [He takes some coins from his pocket, and 
goes toward the gate.] 

Jonathan [surprised]. Is thee going to reward 
them? 

Isaac. Encouraging the vagabonds ! 

Caleb [whimsically]. Even artists must live. [He 
goes to the gate and speaks off-stage.] Here ye are, my 
friends. 

A Strong Musical Voice [off-stage]. Thank you, 
saire — thank you — we com' back, an' play some more. 

Caleb. Nay, nay, we're Friends, and I'm supposed 
to drive thee away. [The voices off-stage laugh.] 

The First Voice. The gentleman mak' fun. We 
com' back. [They go away singing and playing. The 
music gradually dies away in the distance.] 

Isaac [as Caleb comes back to the centre]. Thee in- 
clines too much to the World. 

Caleb [quiz sic ally]. Well, Isaac, one righteous man 
would have saved Sodom and Gomorrah, and I depend 
upon thee! [Isaac turns away stiffly.] 

Mehitabel [to mollify him]. Whence did thee come, 
Isaac? 

Isaac. From Amity. 

Caleb. Has the station-master any more news? 

Isaac. Nay, there seems to be an interruption in the 
telegraph wires. 

Mehitabel [anxiously]. The uncertainty ! 

Priscilla [more seriously]. Indeed, Mehitabel, thee 
will succeed in making me uneasy. 

Isaac [meaningfully]. The very times breed painful 
occasions. 

Jonathan [quickly]. Has anything happened? 
[Isaac nods.] 

Caleb. What was it? 

Isaac [his manner very serious]. 1 have just seen 



26 The Inward Light 

the son of David Worthington carrying a musket. 

Mehitabel [surprised]. Benjamin? 

Isaac. Ay. In the public square — drilling. 

Mehitabel and Jonathan [shocked]. Drilling! 

Isaac. With the cadets. 

Jonathan [distressed]. A birthright Friend bearing 
arms ! 

Caleb [thoughtfully]. This will be a blow to his 
father. 

Isaac [sincerely]. David should be informed. 

Priscilla [with unexpected womanliness, yet in a re- 
spectful tone]. Bad news travels fast enough, Isaac, 
without speeding it. 

Caleb [to her — positively]. For once I agree with 
thee. [Admonishingly to the others.] Keep this mat- 
ter to yourselves. 

[An attractive lad of nineteen suddenly swings into 
view on the limb of the scarlet oah, which projects over 
the fence from the hack. He is Benjamin Worthing- 
ton, — an eager-spirited, fawn-eyed hoy. His Friends' 
coat is on his arm, and his hat is in his hand.] 

Benjamin [on the limb of the tree — blithely]. To 
all assembled here, greeting! 

Mehitabel. Benjamin! 

Benjamin. What's the meeting about? Like the 
World's People, I sit in the gallery. 

Caleb [whimsically]. Benjamin, thee almost per- 
suades me there is something in these astonishing new 
theories of Charles Darwin. 

Benjamin [puzzled]. Who's he, Caleb? 

Caleb [dryly]. An English scientist who believes 
there's some relation between man and monkey. [Ben- 
jamin laughs.] 

Jonathan [kindly]. Are such antics seemly, my lad? 

Benjamin. When April's in the air, and the blue- 



The Inward Light 27 

birds coming? [Mischievously to Jonathan.] Jona- 
than, has thee never been uplifted by the stars of spring? 

Jonathan. Well, not quite so high, Benjamin, I will 
admit. 

Benjamin [to Isaac]. Now thee has been up a tree 
in thy time, Isaac, I'll wager. [Isaac walks away 
a step without answering. Benjamin chuckles.^ 

Caleb. It's a long time since if any of us were, 
Benjamin. But let us discourse of it where we shall 
all be on the same level. 

Priscilla. Do come down, Benjamin. 

Benjamin [with a great show']. Since the lady asks 
it — though I am a Friend, a gallant heart beats in this 
antique bosom. [He leaps to the ground.^ 

Caleb [to Benjamin]. May I exercise the preroga- 
tive of an old man? 

Benjamin [mischievously]. I am humbly prepared 
for thy reproof. 

Caleb. What if thy father had seen thee drilling? 

Benjamin [with a sly look]. It was almost as bad, 
for Isaac did. 

Isaac. A Friend to carry a gun! 

Benjamin [smilingly]. I might shoot it, too. 

Jonathan [serious, hut without fanaticism]. How 
can thee jest of a thing so contrary to our principles? 

Benjamin [soberly]. I wasn't old enough to vote for 
Lincoln last Fall, but I can do something more than that 
for him now. 

Priscilla [ecstatically]. Oh, if they only gave 
women the vote ! 

Caleb. Such ideas ! — Peace, thee wild Amazon ! 

Benjamin [brightly]. Wait till I'm a soldier. 

Mehitabel. a member of the Society of Friends ! 

Benjamin [charmingly]. Mehitabel! I don't know 
whether I'm a Friend or not. 



28 The Inward Light 

Caleb [gently]. The times are indeed troubled when 
David Worthington's own flesh and blood does not know 
whether he is his father's son. 

Benjamin [firmly~\. Must we always be what our fa- 
thers and grandfathers were^ and do what they did? 

Isaac [with dignity]. Ay, if we are to live in their 
faith. 

Benjamin [winsomely, if firmly, to him], I would 
be my own architect, Isaac. 

[Peter Alderman enters at the gate, whistling. He 
is a man of forty-five, gaily dressed in a blue cutaway 
coat, a figured silJc waistcoat, and buff nankeen panta- 
loons. He wears a high collar, a cravat with loose ends, 
and a heavy watch chain with many seals. He is gloved, 
carries a cane, and all in all affords a brilliant and start- 
ling contrast to the severe style of the Friends.] 

Alderman [as he enters, genially]. Hello, every- 
body. Hello, Bennie, my lad. Your daddy home yet? 

Benjamin. Not that I know, Peter. Weren't you at 
the works? 

Alderman. Yes, but left early. [To the others.] 
D'you know today my mild partner was cross at my 
whistling? 

Caleb. David? 

Alderman [enjoying the humour of it]. Yes. He's 
always endured it in a sort of way, protesting but ac- 
cepting it as one of the peculiarities of us World's Peo- 
ple. But this time he gave me one look, and I — 
scooted ! 

[They laugh.] 

Benjamin. Any more news about Sumter? 

Alderman [drawing off his gloves, holding his cane 
under his arm]. Only that it was still holding out. 

Benjamin [with proud satisfaction]. They'll never 
take it. 



The Inward Light 29 

Jonathan [to Alderman]. Does thee think this 
matter serious? 

Alderman [with a change of tone'\. Every cannon- 
shot is a peal of terrible bells waking up our sleeping 
nation. 

Benjamin [eagerli/']. They're stirring now. Can't 
you feel it, all of you.^^ Like young lions they rouse 
themselves. 

Caleb [mildly]. Do calm thyself, Benjamin. 

Alderman. The boy's right. We must adjust our 
lives and business without delay to the work in hand. I 
really must see David. 

[The door of the house opens, and Rachel Worth- 
INGTON comes into view on the landing. She is a young 
woman of twenty-four. The sheer white dress which 
she wears, although it conforms somewhat to the Friends' 
garb in style, has about it a touch of the world of the 
day, and like Priscilla she wears no cap. Her speech 
has distinction and charm, and the dark beauty of her 
hair and the fashioning of her features and her hands 
make her look as exquisite as the cameo which she wears 
on her bosom.] 

Caleb [catching sight of her]. The blessing of this 
beautiful day be upon thee, Rachel. 

Rachel. And upon thee, Caleb, and all. [To Ben- 
jamin.] Father and Joseph not yet returned? 

Benjamin [who has moved up to the steps]. No, sis- 
ter. 

Rachel [to all]. They must have been delayed. 
Will ye come in? 

Caleb. It is wondrously soft out-doors. Let us stay 
here. 

Rachel. Let me make you welcome until father 
comes. [She comes down the steps onto the lawn, smil- 
ing to Priscilla.] I sent thee for Mehitabel, and I have 



30 The Inward Light 

had to come for thee. [To Mehitabel.] Well, Mehit- 
abel, has thy curiosity been appeased? [To the others.] 
She would leave us to see what news was afoot, and look 
what a goodly company she hath attracted. 

Mehitabel [miffed]. Indeed that was not my pur- 
pose, Rachel. 

Rachel [flutteringly to her]. Forgive me, dear Me- 
hitabel, — I suppose ye were discussing the Crisis. 

Alderman. Yes. 

Rachel [dubiously]. Father treats it as a disturb- 
ance that will soon pass by. 

Caleb [kindly]. Let us hope so. 

Rachel [troubled]. He has given his whole life to 
the cause of peace, and it would go hard if his hopes 
were shattered. 

The Voice of a Young Man Off-Stage (Joseph). 
Senator Sumner has already carried one to the Congress 
from the Friends of Massachusetts. 

The Voice of an Older Man Off-Stage (David). 
Ay, Joseph, it is time the Pennsylvania Friends also 
sent a Memorial to the President. 

Rachel. There he is now. [She moves to the gate 
as David and Joseph enter.] 

[David Worthington is a man of fifty-five, with a 
countenance that Rembrandt would have delighted to 
paint. His face, though at times stern in repose, lights 
up with feeling when he speaks. There is in him a hu- 
mour and kindliness coupled with enormous strength of 
will and conviction.] 

[Joseph Baring is thirty-three, tall, in the full vigour 
of young manhood, with strong and handsome features.] 

[Both men are dressed in the Friends' garb. Joseph's 
is less pronounced than David's. His coat has a collar 
of velvet and lapels, and he wears a linen collar with a 
black stock. A warm affection exists between the two 



The Inward Light 31 

men as is shown in their manner toward one another."] 

Rachel [going swiftly to David]. Father. 

David [drawing her tenderly toward him. She is ob- 
viously the apple of his eye, but the habits of a lifetime 
do not permit him to be highly expressive in terms of 
endearment]. Daughter. [Lovingly to Benjamin — 
at his left.] Sonny. 

Rachel. Thee is past thy hour today. I was be- 
coming anxious. 

David [to the others]. Ye see what a gentle gaoler 
I have. 

Joseph [at David's right]. It was my fault, Rachel. 
I detained him talking. 

Priscilla [crossing to Joseph, and putting his right 
arm round her] . I can well believe it, thee windy poli- 
tician. 

David [affectionately laying his hand on Joseph's 
arm]. Nay, Priscilla, it was I detained thy brother. 
[Priscilla and Rachel join hands and move up right 
back.] [To the others with much solemnity.] I have 
had a deep concern on my heart for weeks. I cannot 
sleep because of it. The matter has grown on me. In 
the silences of the night it has laid hold of me and op- 
pressed me. [Turning to Alderman.] Peter, thee does 
not think that this cloud on the horizon will grow larger 
than a man's hand.^ 

Alderman [seriously]. You have always enjoined 
me to talk plainly, David. 

David. Of course. 

Alderman. I think it is the cloud of civil war. 

David [passionately]. Then it must not break. 

Joseph. The world has not yet recovered from the 
Crimea. 

David [almost in lamentation]. Ay, smoke still rises 
from the ruins of Sebastapol, mute witness to the car- 



32 The Inward Light 

nage of war. With that before us, surely we cannot 
plunge into another such sacrifice of human life. 

Joseph. That alone should be enough to stay the 
hand of violence. 

David. The land cries for peace. We must memo- 
rialize the President. 

Jonathan. I agree. Abraham is our only hope. 

Isaac. 'Tis time we urged the principle of non- 
resistance more emphatically. 

Caleb. The sending of reinforcements to Sumter and 
Fort Pickens gives us strong pretext for renewed pro- 
test against possible war. 

Joseph. I am of thy opinion^ Uncle Caleb, and it is 
fit that such protest start here in Berks County, whence 
the President's forebears went a few generations ago. 

Mehitabel. It might have more weight with him. 

Joseph [dubiously]. Although Lincoln is slow to 
act . . . 

David. How could he be otherwise with his an- 
cestry? Friends do not act until they see their way 
clear. Abraham cannot push the war. He must not. 

Benjamin [abruptly]. Yet he fought in the Black 
Hawk war. 

David [looking steadfastly and very fondly at Ben- 
jamin]. Ay, my son. But Abraham is older now. 
Life is spendthrift when thee's young, but grows more 
precious with years. 

Mehitabel. And Peace is the halo round its brow. 

Davtd. The Friends are not so numerous as the 
World's People, but if we stand firmly together on the 
cardinal principle of our faith — Peace — we shall ren- 
der a service to the people of our day out of all propor- 
tion to our numbers. 

Isaac [with exalted voice]. The Lord hath sent us 
to witness against all violence. 

Alderman. If the preservation of a country makes 



The Inward Li^ht 33 

war necessary^ horrible as it is, we must pay the pen- 
alty. 

David [with iron firmness]. It is never necessary. 
Man's folly alone brings it on. 

Joseph [with the far look of the idealist]. The light 
of the Spirit cannot be quenched, David. 

David. Nay, that alone remains whatever man can 
do. [Meekly, yet with a hind of pride, his frame up- 
lifted.] And in that inward light I live. 

Caleb [in the same tone]. As do all Friends. 

Isaac and Jonathan. Ay. 

Mehitabel. Ay. 

David [in a businesslike tone]. Think the matter 
over then, and if ye be moved of the Spirit to speak at 
the next Monthly Meeting we shall discuss it. 

[Priscilla and Rachel have moved over to just above 
the steps where Mehitabel joins them.] 

Jonathan [with Caleb and Isaac coming to David 
at the centre]. Regarding the sale of the Meeting 
House property . . . 

David [courteously]. Step into the house. I will 
presently join you. 

[Alderman whistles a few bars of '* Yankee Doodle."] 

Isaac [reprovingly as he passes Alderman]. Thy 
whistling is ill-timed. 

Caleb [to Alderman, smiling]. May thee keep thy 
exuberance of spirit in the times to come. 

Alderman [to Joseph]. Your Uncle Caleb is a hu- 
mane old boy, isn't he? [He and Joseph draw to the 
right, conversing together.] 

David [to Mehitabel, while Caleb, Jonathan and 
Isaac walk up the steps and go into the house]. Has 
Rachel showed thee the plants which Captain Slocum 
brought me from Charleston? 

Rachel [with her arms round the waists of the 
other girls] . Magnolias — beauties — 



34 The Inward Light 

Mehitabel [as they move to the upper end of the 
house]. Thy house will be embowered in perfume. 

Priscilla. How I do love and adore flowers! [The 
three girls, chatting, go off stage at the upper left.] 

David [centre — to Benjamin]. Come hither, my 
lad. [Benjamin goes to him. The hoy's attitude is 
one of love and respect, hut with reservations on points 
of principle.] My son, will thee forgive the solicitude of 
a father to whom thee is — very dear ? 

Benjamin [looking up with shining eyes]. W-what 
is it, father.^ 

David. I am worried over thee, Benjamin. 

Benjamin [quickly]. Has Isaac said anything to 
thee.? 

David. Isaac? Nay. Why should he? 

Benjamin [relieved]. I was only wondering. 

David [tenderly]. I desire to speak to thee not be- 
cause another has approached me, but because of the un- 
easiness that stirs in my own heart. [Pause.] All 
the lads are joining the cadets. They're urging thee, 
I'm afraid. The seriousness of thy manner troubleth 
me. My boy, thee will never do aught that would bring 
most deep unhappiness to thy father ? 

Benjamin [amhiguously — with quivering lips]. I 
shall have thee in mind, father, whatever I do. 

David [misunderstanding — gratefully]. That is 
well, my boy. 

Benjamin. May I ride Black Jess to the village? 

David [smilingly]. Is it possible for thee to keep off 
that horse ? 

Benjamin. I am anxious to hear whether any news 
has come in. 

David [lovingly]. Go, my son, and may it be good 
news. 

[Benjamin with a lingering look of love clouded hy 
a sense of difference goes off stage at the upper end of 



The Inward Light 35 

the house on the left. A moment later his horse's hoofs 
are heard fading in the distance.^ 

Alderman [noticing that Benjamin has gone off stage 
comes down to David]. David. 

David [to Alderman]. Did thee wish to speak with 
me, Peter.^ 

Alderman. Yes. [Joseph turns as if to leave up- 
stage right. '\ 

David. Nay. Joseph, stay. Thee knows my whole 
thought. [To Alderman.] Unless it be confiden- 
tial? 

Alderman. Not at all. [He draws up a chair, right 
of centre, in which he sits. Joseph sits on a chair to his 
left, a little above him. David faces them in the large 
rustic arm-chair a little to the left of the centre.^ 
We've been partners for many years, David. 

David. Ay; and thy father was the partner of my 
father, and thy grandfather of my grandfather almost 
from the time this Commonwealth was founded. 

Alderman. We've been World's People and you 
Quakers. Yet we've always managed to get along to- 
gether. 

David [enjoying his little joke]. Do not forget, 
Peter, we Friends can get along with anybody. We 
even got along well with the Indians. 

Alderman [after the laughter]. Well, to the point: 
we've had to lay off many workmen in the last few 
months. 

Davtd. To my great regret. 

Alderman. I've been thinking we could take them 
back, and have employment for hundreds more. 

David [looking up serenely]. What is thy wish? 

Alderman [after a pause]. To enlarge the works. 

Joseph [surprised — to Alderman]. Have you been 
receiving more orders than you can fill? 

Alderman. No. But we could. 



36 The Inward Light 

David [benignly]. Thy words say one thing, thy 
thought another. Come, deal simply with me. 

Alderman [measuring his words], David, I want to 
be ready for government contracts. 

David. Of what kind.^ 

Alderman [slozvly]. Uniforms for the army. 

David [slowly but kindly]. I cannot favour it, Peter. 

Alderman. But this is not taking up arms. 

David [with childlike trust]. It is simple business. 
The government will not go so far that an armed 
force w^ill be needed. Then we should be bankrupt. 

Joseph [meditatively]. But if war should come, and 
armies be raised by tens and hundreds of thousands? 

Alderman. Exactly. They will need uniforms. And 
who can supply them so well as we? 

David [painfully]. I don't like the idea of riches 
gained through others' misery. 

Alderman. We can double, treble our capital, take 
back all the men we've had to lay off, and make room 
for hundreds of others. 

David [his voice trembling with emotion]. All my 
life I've dreamed of Peace. Could I reap the profits 
gained from war, even though that profit be shared with 
those who so sorely need it? 

Alderman. Joseph, what do you think? 

Joseph [musingly — to David]. There is much in 
what Peter says, both from the point of view of your 
business, your workmen, and of the needs of the men in 
the field — alwaj^s supposing there should be war. 

Alderman [with firm politeness, rising], I want to 
be in a position to try for those contracts. 

David [rising — with serene power]. I am unwilling 
to entertain the idea. [Joseph rises,] 

Alderman. I'm sorry. 

David [benignantly]. This will not bring division 
between us ? 



The Inward Li^ht 37 

Alderman [very seriously]. Your refusal will deeply 
trouble me^ I am afraid. 

[A strained pause. — At this moment Mehitabel, 
Rachel, and Priscilla appear from the upper corner of 
the house.'] 

Priscilla [to David as they come down stage]. Thy 
plants are exquisite, David. — Cones of red flame taper- 
ing into snow. 

Mehitabel. I begrudge me that I cannot allow my- 
self more time to enjoy their perfections. 

Alderman [to Mehitabel and Priscilla]. May I 
oil er you my escort, ladies ? 

Mehitabel. It will be a pleasure, Peter. 

Priscilla. As soon as I can get Harmony and Wil- 
liam Penn. 

[Alderman has joined Mehitabel and they go up- 
stage.] 

Joseph [crossing to the left]. I'll bring them, sister. 
[He walks up the steps and into the house.] 

Rachel [to Priscilla]. Let me give you these pan- 
sies, Priscilla, the first of the season. [She pins them on 
Priscilla's bodice.] 

David [pinching Priscilla's cheek]. Flowers are 
pretty, but youth needs not even that decoration. I like 
the plain dress of the Friends. It leaves more time for 
the adornment of the mind. 

Rachel [smilingly]. But we are women, father, with 
a besetting fondness for new frocks. 

David [sweetly]. Set not your heart on things that 
are fleeting, my child. Thee knows the history of the 
garb of the Friends. The style of my coat and hat is 
that which was used generally in the time of Charles 
the First, only the king's coat was of satin, he stole it 
from the silkworm; the feather for his hat he borrowed 
from the ostrich. We have continued to wear the gar- 
ments of that day, but without adornment. And such 



38 The Inward Light 

as they were, they have remained two hundred years. 
[Humorously.^ Methinks the Friends would feel un- 
comfortable in some of the styles of today. 

Priscilla [poutingly]. Well^ thee need not look so 
cross at me. [David laughs.] 

[Joseph comes out upon the landing with Harmony 
LiGHTFOOT, a little girl of seven quaintly dressed as a 
Friend except that her pantalets show beneath her skirts, 
and William Penn Lightfoot, a little boy of five, also 
clad as a Friend. Behind them on a lead held by Glad- 
lus is King Solomon, a magnificent specimen of the 
sable and white rough-haired collie.] 

David [lifting Harmony down from the stoop while 
Joseph comes down the steps and places little William 
Penn in a standing position on the rustic arm-chair.] 
Well, has thee enjoyed thy customary Seventh Day visit, 
Harmony ? 

Harmony [with comical gravity]. Ay, David. 

David [fumbling in his coat-tail pockets]. I have a 
surprise for thee, William Penn. [He draws out a 
beautiful glass sphere about two inches in diameter which 
he gives to the little lad.] 

William Penn. A manny! 

David. And this is for Harmony. [From the other 
pocket he takes out a small package which he begins to 
unwrap.] 

Harmony [sedately]. I cannot contain myself for 
curiosity. [The others laugh.] 

David [as he removes the last piece of paper and a 
small doll is disclosed] . There ! 

Harmony [in ecstasy]. A dolly! 

Joseph. What does thee say, Harmony? 

Harmony [clasping her doll tightly in one arm and 
holding her skirt with the other hand makes a courtesy]. 
Thank'ee, David. 

Joseph. And thee, William Penn? 

William Penn [indifferently], Fanks. 



The Inward Light 39 

David [patting King Solomon who is held on the 
lead by Gladius]. I am sorry I did not think of thee, 
King Solomon. Those who are the most devoted are 
not always the best rewarded. Gentle beast. 

Priscilla [to the children']. Say farewell to David, 
children, and come along. 

William Penn and Harmony. Peace be with thee, 
David. 

David [stroking their heads]. And with thee, little 
man, and thee, Harmony. 

Mehitabel. Come, William Penn. 

[Priscilla and Harmony move toward the gate fol- 
lowed by Mehitabel and William Penn.] 

Alderman [dryly — to Gladius]. I suppose I'll 
have to accompany King Solomon. [He takes the lead 
from Gladius and moves behind Mehitabel and Wil- 
liam Penn.] 

[Joseph walks along with them at their right, Rachel 
at their left. David remains down stage.] 

William Penn [as they move toward the gate — 
turning to Alderman]. Peter, does thee like dogs? 

Alderman. Very much, old fellow. 

William Penn. Does thee like dogs better than 
ladies ? 

Alderman. Well, I have found them more faithful. 
[They laugh.] 

[Priscilla and Harmony have reached the gate.] 

David [calling after them]. Come again soon. 

Harmony and William Penn [in their childish voices 
from beyond the gate]. We will, David. 

[Gladius closes the gate and goes off stage at the 
upper end of the house.] 

[Rachel has come down stage a little right of centre 
near the bench. Joseph is above her near the centre.] 

[The afternoon light has been deepening. Now broad 
streaks of dusky saffron and crimson lie along the sky 



40 The Inward Light 

line at the right back. The shadows of the trees have 
lengthened. Their branched arms are silhouetted 
against the approaching evening. A ray of dim gold is 
upon the sun-dial. The cardinals begin their evening 
song.] 

David [moving to the steps of the house]. Will ye 
excuse me while I confer with the Committee regarding 
the Meeting House property? [He walks up the steps 
and into the house.] 

Rachel [sitting on the bench with the embroidery 
frame before her, looking after her father]. Dear 
father. [Beginning to work on her frame.] Sometimes 
he seems to me like one from another world. 

Joseph [sitting in the chair at her left facing her]. 
If you mean that the flame of belief burns vehemently 
within him — 

Rachel. Yes. He would adapt life to him, whereas 
most of us must adapt ourselves to life. And life is so 
tremendous. Who can stand up before its plunging 
hoofs ? . . . I grow afraid for his sake. 

Joseph. You should not. Such a man is a light- 
house amid the storms of the world. If he falls, it is in 
glory. In that sense nothing can harm him. 

Rachel [inquiringly]. Would such a fate content 
you? 

Joseph. I could not ask for a better one, if I were 
so great a man. [His eyes in the distance.] To 
serve with all that is best within one ! To exalt life 
and its holy causes — the perishable stuff of life, tinged 
with the darkness of death, yet illumined by stars. . . . 

Rachel. Is that your faith? 

Joseph [hesitatingly]. Is any man sure of what he 
believes or is? Least of all of his faith, which is a 
dream, a reach of the spirit? 

Rachel [lifting smiling eyes to him]. Yes, there 
was a time when father had some doubt of your ortho- 



The Inward Li^ht 41 

doxy. — Remember when you helped Gladius to escape 
in the underground railway? 

Joseph [smiling]. And had the fight with the over- 
seer ? 

Rachel [laughing — shaking her head]. A Friend 
in a iight — dreadful ! ! 

Joseph [ruefully — stroking his chin]. I had a 
swollen eye and a split lip. [With a sigh.] It was a 
wonderful feeling. 

Rachel. Your Uncle Caleb fervently declared you 
would yet succeed in being disowned by the Meeting. 

Joseph. And with what a spirit you defended me. 
There you stood^ your hair like a blackbird's wings and 
the dawn flaming up in your eyes — for all the world 
like one of those little woodland maidens that the Greeks 
fancied inhabited the trees. And you said: " If ye 
disown Joseph, ye must disown me, too, for my heart 
approveth him." 

Rachel [smilingly]. Were you not my comrade? 
Could I do less? 

Joseph. I have ever held you in grateful remem- 
brance for it. — Remember when you sailed for Eng- 
land? 

Rachel. Only last year. Yet how long ago it seems. 

Joseph. You were waving to your father and me 
from the deck of the Great Eastern, and I felt very 
lonely, as if you were sailing into a world where I could 
not follow you. " New scenes will crowd in on thee," I 
thought, " whilst we remain treading the olden ways. 
Good-bye, little maiden, sailing away from girlhood." 

Rachel. I could not see my father nor thee for the 
tears that were in my eyes. 

Joseph [lightly]. Then came your expressive letters : 
Old London, and Westminster with its battleflags, and 
Queen Victoria, a plump little woman almost smothered 
beneath her diamonds. 



42 The Inward Light 

Rachel [laughing softly']. That's just how the dear 
lady looked. 

Joseph. And our great John Bright, and Gladstone, 
and Disraeli. 

Rachel. And the soirees, all plumes and silken 
gowns and glittering jewels! [Frowning.'] And then 
to come back from those scenes of wit and eloquence and 
established freedom — back to my own country where 
they still had chattel slavery ! [She turns away. He 
is silent.] 

Joseph [after a pause]. You gave no hint of your 
feeling. 

Rachel. Yet it was here in my heart like a corro- 
sive element. Oh, don't think I nourished the bitterness. 
It was as if somebody — not I — were scornfully ask- 
ing, "Where is the boasted greatness of America? " 

Joseph [astonished]. Surely you do not feel so now? 

Rachel. No, for then occurred a miracle. [Joseph 
looks at her inquiringly.] At old Independence Hall 
in Philadelphia less than two months ago. 

Joseph [intent]. What happened? 

Rachel. It was at a flag-raising. Abraham Lincoln 
spoke. 

Joseph. On his way to Washington for his inaugura- 
tion . . .? 

Rachel. Yes. He rose up — a tall, gaunt man — 
oh, how tall! You would have thought him homely till 
you saw the charity of his face and those sad eyes. 

Joseph. Does thee remember what he said? 

Rachel. He spoke only a few minutes. But one 
thought has remained with me. [She tries to recollect 
the phrasing.] He had often inquired of himself, he 
said, what great principle or idea had kept our country so 
long together. It was not the separation of the colonies 
from England, but that sentiment born in Independence 
Hall, where he was now standing, which gave Liberty 



The Inward Light 43 

not alone to the people of this country, but hope to all 
the world. 

Joseph [as if looking into the future — quietly]. 
The destiny of America. 

Rachel. And as he stood there looking out upon 
the assemblage with his careworn, deeply-lined counte- 
nance, the cold pain that had gathered in my heart 
died away, and my distracted country became in that mo- 
ment dearer to me than anything in all the world. \_She 
brushes the tears from her eyes.] 

Joseph [meditatively]. Abraham Lincoln . . . 

Rachel [recovering herself] . I wonder if he will be 
known as a great man, for he seemed to me at that mo- 
ment to be greater than any of the great men I had ever 
seen. 

Joseph. There he is in Washington, that tall, gaunt 
man, with the sad face of great charity, and now Sumter 
is being fired on. 

Rachel. And thee and I here in the placid sunset, 
with the cardinals whistling in the trees, as if peace were 
on all the world. 

[Music is heard, instruments playing, faintly at first, 
then sweeter and clearer moment by moment. A strong 
baritone voice sings a foreign song to its accompaniment, 
the words indistinguishable in the distance.] 

Joseph [as the light deepens]. Can thee still see to 
sew.^ 

Rachel. The light is ample. [Indicating her sew- 
ing.] For my new pelisse. One of those long cloaks. 
Mine will be silk. [Thinking intently.] Soft grey, al- 
most like a pearl. 

Joseph. I — I dream of thee in it. 

Rachel [smiling]. Thee has learned strange modes 
of speech in the Legislature. 

Joseph. Or in an older school. 

Rachel [tremulously]. And what is that? 



44 The Inward Light 

Joseph. The heart's yearning amid these evenings 
drenched with the scent of grape hyacinths and the song 
of the wood thrushes on their return. [He has risen 
slowly, and she after him. Their hands meet. He 
draws her to him. They embrace.^ I have loved thee 
and waited for thee for years. 

Rachel. And I for thee. " For my heart approveth 
thee." 

Joseph. Little comrade. [Long pause.'] Will thee 
let me announce our intention to wed at the next Monthly 
Meeting ? 

Rachel. Does thee not think that soon? With these 
shadows about us? 

Joseph. If they disperse^ we shall be happy. And 
if they do not^ we shall build us a shelter against them 
together. That is love. 

Rachel [in a half -whisper as she bows her head]. 
As thee says. [They embrace — his left arm about her 
they move quietly toward the sun-dial.] The shadow 
lengthens on the sun-dial. It is getting late. 

Joseph [softly]. Hush, dear. This moment is 
neither early nor late. It will never pass. It is eternal. 
[They are now at the dial.] 

Rachel. I hardly ever noticed this inscription be- 
fore, although I have known it all my life. [She reads 
the inscription.] " The Light that fades will yet outlive 
this stone — " 

Joseph [beside her, reading]. "And Love shall 
reign, though Death usurp his throne." [She gives him 
both her hands.] From the beginning of all beginnings 
to the end beyond all ends, Love that conquers Death. 
[He raises her hands to his lips.] 

[The music vanishes in the distance.] 

[David comes out of the house and stands upon the 
stoop. A step behind him is Caleb ; to Caleb's right is 



The Inward Li^ht 45 

IsAAC^ and to his left is Jonathan. The light of the 
afternoon is fading gradually into the deeper ox-blood 
glow of sunset.] 

David [standing on the stoop in the glory of scarlet- 
tinged amber and deep shadows — pausing to drink in 
the beauty of the approaching evening]. How peace- 
fully^ the sunlight falls upon the olden fields. Verily, 
beautiful upon the hills are the feet of the beloved. 
[He slowly comes down the steps.] How this splendour 
brushes away all doubts. [Caleb comes down the steps 
after him; the other two men walk after Caleb.] 

Caleb. If thee doubts, who shall be firm? 

David. Misgivings were the better word. The heat 
of the noonday sun has worn me out. 

Rachel [solicitously as she and Joseph move toward 
her father]. Thee is not ill.^ 

David [resting his hand affectionately upon her shoul- 
der]. Nay, only my spirit is weary. The evening is 
not yet come. When it does, I must pass on my staff 
to another. [To Joseph.] Joseph. [Joseph takes a 
step toward him.] Thee must carry our banner still 
further. 

Joseph. Thee wants me to take up thy work? 

David [turning to Isaac and Jonathan]. Know ye 
of one better fitted? 

Isaac. Nay. 

Jonathan. Nor one in whom we do more trust. 

[Caleb stands silently beside Joseph during the en- 
suing lines.] 

David [to Joseph — as if in benediction]. May the 
revelation of the spirit and fire be in thy heart of 
hearts — 

Jonathan. In constancy and patience — 

Isaac. With a waiting upon God in silence — 

David. That thy works may satisfy the weary and 



46 The Inward Light 

afflicted souls of men. [The other men bow reverently.^ 

Joseph [humbly bowing his head]. Ye honour me be- 
yond the power of words to express. 

David. It is an honour that I delight to bestow on 
thee^, for I love thee. Were thee my son^ I could not 
love thee more. 

Joseph [with a change]. I have always sought to 
meet thy approbation, David, but I did even aspire to be 
in another sense thy son. [Rachel comes softly to her 
father.] 

David [lays his left hand upon the shoulder of Joseph 
and his right upon that of Rachel, and peers whimsi- 
cally into their faces. Then he wags his head quaintly 
— to Joseph]. Thee need not hesitate. I suspicioned 
it long ago. 

Joseph. That I loved Rachel? 

David [Rachel in his arms]. Ay, lad. An old 
man's eyes are keen and look far into the future when he 
has so dear a daughter as — [looking into Rachel's 
eyes] thee. 

Joseph [simply]. I have loved her ever since I grew 
to know what true love is. 

David [dryly]. H'm. [He takes their right hands.] 

Joseph. Thee consents? 

David [for answer uniting their hands]. Whom 
rather would I see wed my daughter than him who 
espouses my cause? [While they stand before him with 
joined hands.] Live long and happily in paths of pleas- 
antness and ways of peace. [The beating of a horse's 
hoofs is heard of stage to the right.] 

Joseph [starting]. What's that? 

Benjamin [off stage, crying out]. Joseph! Joseph! 

Rachel [in anxiety]. Benjamin! 

Benjamin [off stage]. Joseph! Peter! Joseph! 

[Joseph hastens to the gate and opens it. The horse's 
hoofbeats abruptly stop, and Benjamin, breathless and 



The Inward Light 47 

begrimed with dust, rushes upon the stage and in at the 
gate.'] 

Joseph. What's happened? 

Benjamin [hardly able to speak in his excitement]. 
Sumter ! 

Joseph [alarmed]. What of Sumter? 

Benjamin. Surrendered. 

Caleb. But the reinforcements? 

Benjamin [still breathless]. The ships . . . outside 
the harbour . . . steady fire from Fort Moultrie . . . 
The troops . . . couldn't land. 

Alderman [in great excitement coming hastily from 
the left and entering the gate]. They've taken Sumter. 

David. Thee is sure of the surrender? 

Alderman. The whole countryside is alive. 

David [still unconvinced]. Is the report confirmed? 

Alderman. Yes^ with little ammunition and few men 
Anderson couldn't hold out. 

Mehitabel [hurriedly entering the gate]. Have ye 
heard ? 

David [with an outcry]. Ay, every wind multiplies 
the dread tidings. 

Alderman. It is the end of dallying. 

Benjamin [excitedly]. The opening gun has been 
fired — 

Alderman. Against the Union! 

Joseph [solemnly]. The war is inevitable now. 

David [in anguish of spirit raising his arms in prayer]. 
The horn of the ungodly is indeed exalted above the 
Lord's heritage, 

Priscilla [off stage — in excitement]. Joseph — 
Joseph — ! 

[The girl comes hurrying through the gate. At the 
same time the door of the house opens and Gladius 
stands upon the stoop, the afternoon light upon him.] 

Joseph [hastening to Priscilla]. What is it? 



48 The Inward Light 

Priscilla [breathlessly, a telegram in her hand]. A 
telegram! It must be important. I have just heard of 
Sumter. 

Joseph. Give it to me? [She hands him the tele- 
gram. All the others are intently watching Joseph, 
while he tears open the envelope and reads the message.] 

Rachel. What does it say.^ 

Joseph [looking at her hut speaking for all to hear]. 
Governor Curtin has called a conference for Second Day 
in Philadelphia to deal with the national crisis. 

David. Joseph, I am growing old, but thee is young 
with many years open before thee. The burden of our 
cause I entrust to thy keeping. [Continuing as Joseph 
hows his head he fore him.] Who knows but thee was 
sent to the Kingdom for such a time as this that thee 
should be the instrument in the Lord's hands to further 
the cause. 

Joseph [gravely as he raises his head]. A golden 
treasure in vases of clay ! 

David [with increasing solemnity]. Then that the 
treasure may be preserved, the Friends must have no 
complicity with war either directly or indirectly. They 
must refrain from the use of arms and of encouraging 
such use by the Government. This charge I give to thee. 
[Pause.] Will thee take it? [Joseph is silent. 
Rachel beside him hangs on his every glance.] 

[David presses home his query.] Will thee accept 
the charge? 

Joseph [looking at Rachel, then firmly and sadly at 
David]. I'll do what I can, David. 

David [with a touch of sternness]. Thee hesitates? 
Thee, a Friend and the son of generations of Friends? 
[Speaking with difficulty.] Thee is standing now at the 
parting of the ways. 

Joseph [stirred, his face growing stronger with the 
instinct of purpose]. Ay, at the parting of the ways. 



The Inward Lig-ht 49 

[The others look at him. David stands erect. Then 
as Benjamin presses closer to Joseph, his face glowing 
with excitement and exultation, and the former slave, 
Gladius, peers out through his old eyes into the setting 



THE CURTAIN FALLs] 



ACT II 



ACT II 

Scene: The living-room of Joseph Baring's home, 
handsome in its colouring of pale sea-green and old ivory, 
with white wood-work and mahogany doors. It is the 
home of Friends of eminence, yet suggests that the World 
is beginning to invade it. 

At the hack is a wide arch almost the width of the 
room, supported by columns of colonial design of the 
colour of old ivory, which opens upon a hallway at the 
rear along the width of the room. In the far wall of this 
hallway, facing the spectator, is a handsome triple win- 
dow. In the same wall to the left of the window, is a 
door which opens upon the landing outside. Several 
steps are supposed to lead from it to the right off stage 
down to the ground. At the right of the hallway are the 
mahogany newel-post and lower steps of the white stair- 
case, leading up to the right, with a passageway be- 
tween the staircase and the wall of the living-room, go- 
ing off stage to the right. 

At the right of the living-room is a finely proportioned 
open fireplace and white marble mantel. The fireplace 
is backed with platings of delicately cast charcoal-iron. 
On the same side above the fireplace is a door leading to 
other rooms. On the left of the room is a large French 
window opening onto the garden. 

At the left of the centre in a slanting position, standing 
out from the French window, is a square piano of rose- 
wood, the keyboard farthest from the spectator. On the 
hither side of the piano is a colonial settee. At the right 
of the centre is a round table covered with tapestry. An 
oil lamp with a large shade is upon it. Beside the table 

53 



54 The Inward Light 

is a large upholstered chair and two smaller chairs. Sev- 
eral other chairs of graceful design are about the room. 

Beneath the window at the back is a window-seat. In 
the upper corners of the room are walnut book-cases with 
large volumes which still show their golden lettering. 
In front of the case at the upper left is a second table 
with another attractive oil lamp upon it. From the ceil- 
ing hangs a fine crystal chandelier bearing a number of 
unlighted candles. 

Beside the fireplace is a porcelain jar holding paper 
spills and wax tapers. On the white marble mantelpiece 
is an old shelf -clock . At either side of it is a silver can- 
dlestick with a candle. A similar candlestick is on each 
side of the piano. 

It is Fifth Day (Thursday) , July 11, three months 
after the events of the preceding act. 

It is the hour after twilight. Beyond the windows the 
blueblack sky of a summer night is interspersed with 
stars. Occasionally the whip-poor-wills are heard call- 
ing. 

As the curtain rises Priscilla Baring is seen seated at 
the piano playing an interlude. The lamp at the upper 
left and the candles on the piano are lighted. On the 
settee in front of the piano are Caleb Scattergood with 
Harmony at his right and William Penn at his left, 
all three reading a picture book. At their feet lies King 
Solomon. Save for the soft light of the lamp and the 
tapering flames of the candles framing in Priscilla and 
the silvery old man and the children, the room is filled 
with dusky shadows. 

Priscilla wears a delicate maize-tinted tissue with the 
full skirt billowing over hoops. Harmony is dressed in 
fine white India muslin, unembroidered. Delicately ruf- 
fled pantalets peep beneath the full skirt. Caleb is 
garbed in the customary Friends' dress, save that the ma- 
terial of his suit is a light grey serge. Little William 



The Inward Light 55 

Penn wears a suit of natural coloured linen with long 
trousers and a little short coat of denim blue. 

Caleb. What is thee playing? 

Priscilla. a little thing by Tschaikowsky. 

Caleb [thoughtfully]. Never heard of him. A new 
man.f* 

Priscilla. Yes, a young Russian just twenty-one. 

Harmony [as Priscilla continues playing — softly]. 
When is Uncle Joseph coming home, Granduncle Caleb? 

Caleb. Very soon, lassie. 

William Penn. I hope he brings me somethin*. 

Harmony [loftily]. Always thinking of thyself. 

William Penn [with tightened teeth — as a counter- 
stroke]. Just f'r that, when I grow up, I'm goin' to 
chew t'bacco ! 

Caleb. Peace, thee sausage ! Will thee hearken to 
that heavenly harmony? 

William Penn [sturdily as he slips to the floor beside 
King Solomon]. Friends don't care nothin' 'bout mu- 
sic. 

Caleb [remorsefully as he rises and goes to the upper 
end of the settee]. The poodle's right. A piano in the 
home of a Friend ! 

Priscilla. Mother insisted that Joseph and I learn 
to play, 

Caleb. My dear sister was somewhat worldly. 

Priscilla. Does it grieve thee? 

Caleb [sunnily]. No, the worst of it is, I enjoy it. 
[Priscilla strikes a magnificent chord fortissimo]. Is 
that a reason thee must bang so at that devil's instru- 
ment ? — I do hope Joseph will soon return from Harris- 
burg. I can do nothing with thee. 

Priscilla [playing a Chopin waltz]. Am I so fright- 
ful a monster? 

Caleb [to whom she is as his heart's core]. Ay, a 
fire-breathing salamander. 



56 The Inward Light 

Priscilla [laughs — then]. Rachel and Mehitabel 
are a bit late. 

Caleb. Did thee ever know thy delightful sex to be 
on time.^ 

Priscilla. Rachel usually is^ and with all her trou- 
ble too. Is David still angry .^ 

Caleb. Thee should say unhappy. My poor friend ! 
Benjamin's enlistment was a severe blow to him. 

Priscilla. Now that Bennie's home on a furlough, 
David shouldn't make it so bitter for him. 

Caleb. Nay, Priscilla, David is not bitter at Ben- 
jamin. He is only bitter at what the boy has done, 
for his heart yearns toward the lad. 

Priscilla. He doesn't seem very talkative when you 
mention Joseph, either. 

Caleb [passing it off]. Oh, that's not serious. 

Priscilla. These precious men! If I were be- 
trothed, and my fiance had abandoned me for three 
months as Joseph has Rachel . . . 

Caleb. Well, what would thee do? 

Priscilla [grinning at him]. I would shoot him in 
the ear with a pop-gun! 

Caleb. Heaven help the poor man — I do believe 
thee would. [To Harmony and William Penn.] 
Take King Solomon and prepare for bed. 

Harmony [loath to go]. Just a little while. Grand- 
uncle Caleb. 

William Penn [caterwauling]. I don't want to go 
to bed. 

Harmony [simultaneously]. I don't want to go to 
bed. 

Caleb [with an heroic effort]. Must I be stern? 
Must I roar like a lion seeking whom he may devour? 

Harmony. Oh, Granduncle Caleb, thee is so funny. 

Caleb [who has moved to them]. Funny! Out of 
my sight, irreverent bugs. 



The Inward Light 57 

\_The two children run up three or four steps in high 
glee. Caleb kisses them over the bannister; then with 
King Solomon between them they run up the remain- 
ing steps and out of view.] 

Caleb. [Coming down to the French window, while 
Priscilla continues playing]. What a night of stars! 

Priscilla. There should be lanterns on the lawn, an 
expanse of flowered crinoline. . . . 

Caleb [falling into her mood] . And sky-rockets . . . 
and young boys singing. [There is a pause while the 
whip-poor-wills call.] Yet I love the whip-poor-wills. 

Priscilla. Wouldn't thee like this loveliness to last 
forever ? It makes the heart ache — how everything 
passes. 

Caleb [gently]. Nay, when thee is a dear old lady, 
and haply thy niece plays to thee, there will be the same 
stars, the same beauty of music, the same fragrance of 
heliotrope and mignonette, and the same whip-poor-wills. 
In that view there is no death, for all these beautiful and 
vital processes go on. 

Priscilla. And yet. Uncle Caleb, I would have thee 
always just as thee is. 

Caleb [beside her]. And I thee, always as thee is, 
for thee is the loveliness and longing of immortal youth. 

[He kisses her lightly upon the forehead. The rum- 
ble of wheels is heard off stage; then the crack of a whip, 
and a voice calling, " Whoa! "] 

Joseph [off stage]. Thank thee, Noah, here is thy 
fare. [A voice off stage answers, " Thank thee, Jo- 
seph.''] 

Caleb [joyfully]. It's Joseph. 

Priscilla [with her elfinlike exaggeration]. Oh, I'm 
overcome with surprise. I fear I shall swoon. 

Caleb [dryly, as he and Priscilla go to the door, up- 
per left]. If thee does, I'll pour cold water down thy 
neck. 



58 The Inward Light 

[Joseph enters, a portmanteau in his hands. He 
drops his portmanteau and a long linen duster on the 
window-seat. ^^ 

Priscilla [flinging herself at him]. Joseph! 

Joseph. Sis. [He takes her in his arms. Then, re- 
leasing her]. Uncle Caleb! 

Caleb. I'm glad to see thee back^ Joseph. [Thj 
men clasp hands.] 

Priscilla [to Joseph]. When did thee arrive.^ 

Joseph. Noah just drove me over from the station. 

Priscilla. Shall I have a place spread for thee? 

Joseph. Nay, I have dined. 

[At this moment the childish treble voices of William 
Penn and Harmony are heard at the head of the stairs 
calling joyously.] 

William Penn. Uncle Joseph! 

Harmony [simultaneously]. Uncle Joseph! 

[Joseph, as the two children run down the steps in 
their night gowns, lifts them in his arms.] 

Joseph. Harmony! William Penn! [They fling 
their arms around his neck and hug him.] 

Harmony [imitating Priscilla's manner and tone]. 
Oh, Uncle Joseph, I have missed thee to distraction ! 

Caleb [glaring at Priscilla]. Behold thy pernicious 
example ! 

Joseph [to Harmony]. And I have missed thee, 
Honeybell. 

William Penn [to Joseph]. Did thee bring me 
somethin' } 

Joseph [evasively]. My trunk is coming tomorrow. 

Harmony and William Penn [disappointed]. Oh! 

Joseph [pretending indifference]. There may be 
certain things in it. 

Harmony and William Penn [brightening]. Oh! 

Joseph. A magic lantern. . . . 



The Inward Light 59 

Harmony and William Penn [overcome]. Oh! 

Joseph [zvith a deepening voice]. And a patent goat 
that goes " ba-ba," and then butts you. 

Harmony and William Penn [burrowing in his 
shoulders and squealing and kicking with delight]. 
Ee-e! 

Joseph [as he sets them down on the floor]. Here's 
something meanwhile. [He takes from his pocket two 
dainty little boxes which he gives to them.] 

William Penn [opening his box — in rapture]. Rock 
candy ! [He pops a lump of it into his mouth, making 
his cheek stick out.] 

Harmony. Red and yellow and white, oh Uncle 
Joseph ! 

Priscilla [anxiously]. Don't swallow it, William 
Penn. 

William Penn [taking the candy out of his mouth to 
speak]. Only girls swallow candy. [He pops it back 
into his mouth.] 

Joseph [amused]. What do you do, William Penn? 

William Penn [thickly]. Lick it! 

Caleb [to the children]. Kiss Uncle Joseph — 
and — [He points with his finger meaningfully.] 

Joseph [kissing the children]. Good-night, little fel- 
lows. 

Caleb. Hobgoblins — night-owls — 

Harmony [as she runs to the steps — laughingly to 
Caleb]. Salamanders, . . . bugs . . . 

William Penn [mockingly — to Caleb]. Sausage! 

[Caleb starts toward them as if crossly. They fly up 
the steps with squeaks of delight. Joseph comes back 
into the room, Priscilla to his left. Caleb meanwhile 
crosses to the fireplace, takes a wax taper from the por- 
celain jar and lights it with a sulphur match.] 

Joseph. How is Rachel? 



60 The Inward Light 

Priscilla [loftily]. Quite well. But that is a trib- 
ute to the strength of her constitution. Were I so neg- 
lected, I should pine away in a swift decline. 

Joseph [smilingly']. Rachel's not thy kind of girl, 

Caleb [devoutly as he lights the candles on the man- 
tel]. For which thee may render devout thanks. 

Joseph. She knows I've been in the thick of it in 
Philadelphia and Washington. But I'm going right over 
to see her. 

Priscilla. Thee need not. Mehitabel and she are 
coming tonight to assist me in scraping lint. [Caleb is 
now lighting the lamp on the table right of centre.] 

Joseph. Splendid! And how is David .^ 

Caleb. Thee knows of Benjamin's enlistment.'* 

Joseph [seriously]. Yes. Rachel wrote me. 

Caleb [his words full of meaning]. That is sufficient 
answer as to how David is. [He quenches the taper and 
replaces it.] 

Joseph. She wrote, too, of David's displeasure with 
me. 

Caleb [shaking off the mood]. Sufficient unto the 
day! — Thee has just arrived. Make thyself at home. 
[They seat themselves.] 

Priscilla [to Joseph]. Does thee know the Com- 
mittee of the Meeting has been inquiring for thee ever 
since thee announced thy intention to wed Rachel? 

Joseph. Jonathan has just told me. 

Caleb [in surprise]. Has thee seen him? 

Joseph [nodding]. As I was coming down. — He 
said the Committee would like to visit me as soon as 
might be. 

Caleb. Did thee appoint a time? 

Joseph. I informed him I could see them at any time 
convenient to them; and he declared that if he could 
reach Isaac, they would call tonight. 

Priscilla [ominously]. Prepare for the worst! 



The Inward Li^ht 61 

Joseph [perturbed]. Are their questions very se- 
vere ? 

Caleb [confidentially]. Well, if there is any reason 
why thee should not wed Rachel, better tell me now, and 
we shall conspire to circumvent them. 

[The clapper sounds sharply. All three rise.] 

Priscilla. Ho, ho, it's the Committee now. 

Joseph [swallowing hard]. I did not expect them so 
soon. 

Priscilla. Put on thy best orthodox manner, Joseph. 

Joseph [severely]. Take heed to thyself, woman! 

Caleb [going to the door]. Is thee ready, Joseph? 

Joseph [pulling himself together]. Yes, admit them. 

[Caleb opens the door, and Gladius Brown enters 
with a large basket.] 

Caleb [smiling]. Is thee the Committee from the 
Meeting, Gladius? 

Gladius [mystified]. No, sah, Ah's a Mefodist, 
[They laugh.] 

Priscilla. Is your mistress at home? 

Gladius. No, Miss Priscilla. Miss Rachel done 
come hyar soon. 

Joseph [to Gladius]. What have you there, Gladius? 

Gladius. Linen foh bandages, Marse Joseph. 

Caleb [to Gladius]. Gladius, what does thee think 
of all this ado? 

Gladius [with feeling]. Ah dunno, Marse Caleb. 
'Pears lak the day o' judgment done come upon the erth, 
and brudder fight b rudder. [Peering at Joseph with 
hopeful questioning.] Dey say Marse Linkum gwine 
free de slaves? 

Joseph. I hope so, Gladius. 

Gladius [his bent frame uplifted; his eyes in the 
distance]. De slaves free! De chains broken! N'mo 
slavehs ketchin' us in Africa, and we'uns dyin' on de 
road, whar de bones o' black men mark de way, fur's 



62 The Inward Light 

de eye kin see, white and shinin' in de sun. N'mo slave 
ships ; n'mo blood-hounds ; n'mo whip ; n'mo buyin' and 
sellin' lil' chillun and wimmen and men and ol' folks, 
just lak God done fergit 'em. N'mo breakin' up de 
fambly, and sendin' de pappy dar, and de mammy dar, 
and de babies dar, — and dey neber see one nuthuh agin. 
[With veneration.] Ef Marse Linkum gwine do 
dat . . . [Pause — quietly . . . almost incredulously.] 
De slaves free! 

Priscilla. Stranger things have happened, Gladius. 
I know a certain old Friend who likes music. 

Caleb. Hussy! 

[Mehitabel enters at the French zvindow. She 
Xijears the usual Friends' dress, the material beirig a 
pretty grey barege.] 

Mehitabel. I saw the light, and came across the 
gardens. 

Caleb [warmly]. And right thee was, Mehitabel. 
Who would walk along a dusty road when he might come 
through garden greenery and the shadow of roses? 
[He conducts her into the room.] 

Mehitabel [seeing Joseph]. Ah Joseph, I am glad 
thee is returned. 

Joseph [charmingly]. And I am glad to see thee, 
Mehitabel. 

Mehitabel [seeing Gladius — to Priscilla]. Is 
Rachel arrived? 

Priscilla. Not yet. Mehitabel. But Gladius says 
we may expect her presently. 

Gladius. Yass'm. She say she come 'long right 
after me. 

Priscilla [to Mehitabel]. We might as well get 
things started in the meantime. 

Caleb [teasingly] Laborious butterfly. 

Mehitabel. Ind ed, she is very capable, Caleb. 



The Inward Light 63 

Caleb [pinching Priscilla's cheek]. Would she be 
my niece if she were not? 

Priscilla. I like that! [Gaily.] Come along, 
Gladius, thee may help us. Come, Mehitabel. [Sig- 
nificantly.] Uncle Caleb will assist us too. 

Caleb [going after them to the door, upper left]. 
Ay, dragged like a captive at thy chariot wheels. 

[The little group move to the door above the fireplace, 
and go out, leaving Joseph alone.] 

[He looks after them a moment; then seats himself 
at the piano, and plays the andante movement from a 
Beethoven sonata.] 

[Through the French window at the left Rachel en- 
ters and stands for a moment watching Joseph while he 
plays. Her dress is of poplin, the colour of blue prim- 
roses.] 

Joseph [looking up and seeing her]. Rachel! [He 
hastens to her.] 

Rachel [tremulously]. My dear . . . [She is in 
his arms.] 

Joseph. My beloved! [A pause — then, tenderly.] 
Thee is weeping. 

Rachel. It is for happiness at seeing thee once 
more. Oh, my dear, my dear, hold me close . . . close, 
and say thee will never leave me, never, never. 

Joseph [gently]. Thee knows I will not. 

Rachel. Nor go away from me no matter what be- 
falls? 

Joseph. No matter what befalls. For I hold thee 
dearest of all in life. 

Rachel. Thee can never know how great has been 
my need of thee. 

Joseph. And mine of thee. When I sat in Commit- 
tee or in my place in the House, or went to and fro from 
Washington, and the heavy droning of affairs drummed 



64 The Inward Light 

in my ears^ then I knew what it was to love thee and to 
be so far away. 

Rachel. I would not have thee think me weak. And 
yet, oh, I am so weak. One wave of the sea of this war 
has rolled over our house. I have had no power to with- 
stand it, and it has crushed me and all of us, and home 
is home no more. 

Joseph [^comfortingly as he strokes her hair^. Nay, 
dear, this conflict has prostrated even the strongest men. 
And thee is brave . . . ay, my heart commends thee in 
every way. [^He leads her to the settee in front of the 
piano y and they sit down.] Now tell me. 

Rachel [more composed]. Thy vote in the Legisla- 
ture after the surrender of Sumter . . . 

Joseph. When we endorsed the President's call for 
volunteers ? 

Rachel. Father could not realize it. He could not 
. . . nay, would not believe it. 

Joseph. I intended writing him, but could not put it 
all on paper. 

Rachel. But when the Governor entrusted thee 
with the transportation of troops, and thee accepted the 
charge — then he realized. 

Joseph. What did he say? 

Rachel. Nothing. He was dumbfounded . . . like 
a man struck to the heart. 

Joseph. I am grieved for that. 

Rachel [looking away]. To see him walking through 
the house day after day, without saying a word . . . 
oh, it is frightful to see a strong man sorrow ! And then, 
coming on top of that, Benjamin's enlistment! And to 
know his heart was breaking. 

Joseph [compassionately] . Thee has had this to bear 
alone. 

Rachel. He blames Benjamin's enlistment on thee. 

Joseph. I said nothing to the lad. 



The Inward Li^ht 65 

Rachel. Father feels thy example gave him encour- 
agement. I thought that when Benjamin returned home 
on a furlough yesterday . . . 

Joseph. Has David seen him? 

Rachel. Yes. It was very painful. His very love 
for the boy makes his wound deeper. If I could only 
melt his terrible sternness ! 

Joseph. He will soften in time^ and learn to forgive. 

Rachel. Thee doesn't know my father. I have 
thought it best to keep Benjamin out of his sight. What 
a homecoming for the boy ! 

Joseph. When does his furlough expire? 

Rachel. In the morning. He must leave tonight. 

Joseph. I must see him, 

Rachel. He left home before me to bid Priscilla 
and Caleb good-bye. 

Joseph. He hasn't been here since I arrived. 

Rachel. Probably he stopped on the way. As I 
started out^ father said he would come here after a while 
to take me home. I declared it wasn't necessary — 
tried to dissuade him, but he insisted, and I feared to 
rouse his suspicions that Benjamin might be here. 

Joseph. Benjamin can leave before David comes. 

Rachel. Perhaps it would be better if Benjamin 
should go straight to the train from here. 

Joseph. I'll tell him. 

Rachel. And, Joseph, be very considerate in thy 
manner toward father . . . for my sake, 

Joseph. Could I be other toward him? 

Rachel. No matter what he says. He has even 
quarrelled with Peter. 

Joseph, I feared that. 

Rachel. Remember it is his pain that is speaking, 
and not himself. 

Joseph [rising — her hands in his"]. Thee may trust 
me. 



66 The Inward Light 

Rachel [rising after him]. I will trust thee always 
— to the end of life. Yea^ further, while our spirits 
endure. 

Joseph [lifting her hands to his lips]. They will en- 
dure. These indigo nights prove it — the glowing stars, 
and the scent of syringa and honeysuckle, and the night 
birds singing, and thee, and thy gentle goodness, and our 
love. 

[They embrace.] 

[Boyish "whistling is heard outside the French win- 
dow.] 

[Rachel moves a little up stage, drying her eyes. 
Benjamin enters through the French window from the 
garden. He is in uniform. His face is tanned, and his 
hair slightly bleached. He carries his cap in his hands.] 

Benjamin. Joseph ! 

Joseph [taking both his hands — warmly]. Benja- 
min! 

Benjamin. Hello, sis, dear. 

Rachel [not turning — with brave lightness]. 
Hello, Bennie. 

Benjamin [looking round]. The old place is much 
the same. But to have the stars above you at night, 
one deeper than another — burning in the darkness, and 
the camp fires all round, and the guns and glistening 
bayonets . . . 

Joseph. Thee is happy thee enlisted? 

Benjamin [with uplifted head]. Yes. It has been 
the greatest happiness of my life. [With a strange new 
thought fulness.] It's the first step that's hard. But 
once I took the oath I was quite peaceful and without 
fear. . . . What does it matter what happens to me so 
long as the Union lives ! 

J osEPU [solemnly]. And it will live. 

Benjamin. And all the generations after us will 
have freedom and peace . . . 



The Inward Light 67 

Rachel. But does thee think of our heart-ache? 

Benjamin [coming to her — gently^. Why does thee 
grieve? I shall come back. And if not, I gather up all 
the sweetness of life in the present, all the beauty that 
it can hold in the future. I take it into my two arms, 
and I lay it with all my love upon the altar of my coun- 
try. Can a man do more for himself or for life, though 
he live a hundred years? 

Joseph. Thee is leaving tonight? 

Benjamin. Yes. 

Joseph. Isn't there some way thee can make it up 
with thy father? 

Benjamin [his features worhing~\. Dad! 

[The clapper sounds at the rear door. Joseph walks 
to it, and opens it. Peter Alderman enters. He is in 
business dress. '\ 

Alderman. Joe, you back? Glad to see you. 
[Fanning himself with his hat.] Fine weather for corn 
. . . rather hard on us mortals. [Catching sight of 
Benjamin.] Hello, Bennie. And Rachel, too. Well, 
this is unexpected. [He shakes hands with Benjamin.] 
How are you, young fellow? 

Benjamin. Quite well, thank you, Peter. 

Alderman [lightly]. You look like a man now. 
How'd you do it? 

Benjamin [in the same bantering tone]. I've thought 
of destiny; I've looked at death, and I've eaten hard 
tack! 

Alderman. That's the right spirit, my boy. [To 
Joseph.] Caleb home? 

Benjamin. I'd like to see him too. And Priscilla, 
if she's here. 

Joseph. I'll call them. 

[He goes up stage to the right and out of the door.] 

Alderman [not without anxiety tq B'A(;^JiEi, and Ben- 
jamin], How is your father? 



68 The Inward Light 

Benjamin [surprised]. Haven't you seen him? 

Alderman. Not for a couple of days. He seems to 
avoid me. 

Rachel. You must be patient with him, Peter. The 
war has sorely tried him. 

Alderman. Yes, I know. But there are such serious 
business questions pending that I must see him. That's 
why I wanted to talk to Caleb. 

[Caleb and Joseph enter from the door at the right, 
followed by Priscilla.] 

Caleb. Ah, Rachel, my dear. [Pleasantly, nodding 
to Alderman.] Peter. [Then noticing Benjamin.] 
Benjamin. I did not think to see thee in uniform. Of 
course as a Friend I should have to consent to thy dis- 
ownment. But still I am glad to see thee, my lad. 

Priscilla [to Rachel, as they kiss]. Thee dear, 
stunning, lovely person!! [To Benjamin.] How fine 
thee looks, Benjamin! 

[Priscilla and Benjamin walk up stage and sit down 
on the window-seat. Joseph and Rachel are at the pi- 
ano.] 

Caleb [turning to Alderman at the right of the 
centre]. Joseph tells me thee wishes to talk to me. 

Alderman. If you can spare the time. 

Caleb [taking a step toward the window at the left]. 
We might go into the garden. 

Alderman [slyly]. I feel safer with you out of the 
dark. 

Caleb [jocularly — leading him to the table right of 
centre]. Well, then I give thee free leave to discuss 
anything except my past life. 

[They laugh and then sit down.] 

Alderman [to Joseph, now seated at the piano]. Go 
ahead and play, Joseph. We don't mind. 

Joseph. All right, Peter. 

[He plays softly. Rachel at his right.] 



The Inward Li^ht 69 

Alderman [to Caleb — seriously]. You're very 
close to David . . . even closer, I think, than Joseph 
here, because you two are of the old school. I wish you 
would use your good offices between us. 

Caleb. Has there been friction.'^ 

Alderman. I'm afraid so. 

Caleb. I knew of his objection to government con- 
tracts, but I conjectured ye would find some means of 
accommodating your differences. 

Alderman. He's very set . . . avoids me, I can't 
get at him at all. Will you arrange a meeting? 

Caleb. Of course I'll do what I can. But thee 
knows David's not a man to be turned, either to the left 
or to the right. 

[Benjamin rises quickly at the back and comes into 
the room. Priscilla is near the door.] 

Benjamin [to Rachel]. Father's coming. I saw 
him through the window. 

[Joseph abruptly stops playing.] 

Rachel. Perhaps you had better go into the dining- 
room. 

Joseph. Benjamin, do you think you will have time 
to make your train? 

Benjamin [with pain]. I know what you mean, 
Joseph . . . that I should leave without seeing father. 
[The clapper sounds.] 

Priscilla. It is he. 

Rachel [leading Benjamin to the door right, and 
opening it]. Go, my dear boy, go, go! 

[She kisses him and hurries him and Priscilla out. 
Joseph follows them out of the room.] 

[Caleb has gone to the door and opens it. David 
enters. His appearance is that of a man who has knozvn 
disappointment and sorrow in the intervening months; 
but his manner is humane and kindly even though be- 
neath it speak his inflexible convictions.] 



70 The Inward Light 

David [as he enters, his hat on']. Peace be to this 
house. 

Caleb [affectionately^. And to thee and thine, 
David, peace. 

David [moved]. Ay, Caleb, peace is a blessing that 
my house has lacked. [Recognizing Peter.] Peter. 
[To Rachel.] If thee is ready, Rachel, I will take thee 
home. 

Rachel [moving toward him]. Yes, father. 

Alderman [moving up]. David, may I crave your 
patient hearing for a moment? 

David [courteously]. Will not some other time do.^* 

Alderman. The matter is important — and I have 
waited several days for an opportunity to speak with 
you. 

David [with some feeling]. If thee can excuse me, 
Peter, I should be grateful. 

Alderman. Forgive my insistence. I even came 
here this evening to ask Caleb to bring about a friendly 
interview. 

Caleb [to David]. We are all life-long intimates. 

Rachel [gently — to her father] . W^ill thee not lis- 
ten to thy old friend? [David remains silent.] 

Alderman. David, you know we've had to lay off 
more and more of our men, and if it keeps up we'll 
soon have to close down the factory. 

David [with a sigh — nodding]. Ay, I know it. 

Alderman. The government has offered our firm a 
contract for forty thousand military uniforms. We 
have the equipment to make them. It will save our busi- 
ness and serve our country. Will you let our firm under- 
take it? 

David [as if looking over the heads of those present]. 
Seventy years ago my grandfather started the business. 
Then he took Peter's grandfather into partnership, and 



The Inward Light 71 

the firm of Worthington and Alderman has continued 
without a break ever since. 

Caleb. It has been a name to conjure with. 

Alderman. Never a strike^ and our financial standing 
solid when other firms toppled. 

David. Ay, because its men were honest. They 
neither lied nor truckled to secure business, and more 
than life itself they valued principle. 

Alderman. That's just it. The contractors plun- 
dered the state with the first equipment, and our Pennsyl- 
vania soldiers three months ago were so scantily clothed 
that in six weeks they were an army of ragamuffins, 
their shoes with soles of pine shavings, and their blankets 
mere gossamer. The government has come to us because 
it knows we'll give it honest merchandise. 

Rachel. When must you return your answer? 

Alderman. In the morning. 

David. And thee asks for my decision? 

Alderman. I do, and I hope it will be a favourable 
one, both for the sake of our firm and the men we employ. 

David. My answer is ready as it has always been 
ready. 

Alderman. And that is — ? 

David. As a Friend I cannot accept it. [Pause.'\ 

Alderman. But why? 

David. It will be aiding in providing the sinews of 
war. 

Alderman [quietly']. We are partners, David? 

David. Ay. 

Alderman. Each with full power to bind the firm? 

David. Ay. 

Alderman. As a partner I am determined to accept 
the contract. 

David. Then thee must do it without me. 

Alderman. That would mean dissolution? 



72 The Inward Light 

David. If thee insists. 

Alderman. Yoq would sooner withdraw from the 
firm than change your answer.^ 

David [quietly]. I would. 

Caleb. Thee cannot go that far, David? 

David. Of all men, Caleb, thee knows I must. 

Caleb [remonstrating]. But, David, the men. 

David [more mildly to him]. Acts are eloquent of the 
heart. War will not cease until lives conform to belief. 

[Caleb turns away with an attitude of reluctant ad- 
mission.] 

Alderman. David, don't be too hasty about this mat- 
ter. 

Rachel. Father, cannot we ask thee to take this mat- 
ter under advisement? 

David [lovingly to her]. Can I take under advise- 
ment the very breath by which I live? [With deep and 
solemn passion.] As with my fathers before me, prin- 
ciple is more to me than money; more than life itself. 
[There is a pause, — to Alderman.] If by doing this 
thing thee would rather dissolve the partnership that 
has been kept in our two families almost from the birth 
of the nation, so be it. I cannot compromise with my 
teachings. 

Alderman [talking up his hat and his cane]. If that 
is your last word, there is nothing more to be said. 

Rachel. Father! 

Alderman [reluctantly]. Perhaps it were better we 
separate now than drag along hampered by disagree- 
ment. 

Caleb [to Alderman]. It is not too late to have both 
sides reconsider. It were a pity to dissolve a partner- 
ship of three generations. 

Alderman [respectfully]. With ruin staring us in 
the face and a way of safety open, I cannot bar that way 
to me. My mind is made up. 



The Inward Light 73 

David. And mine. 

[Caleb turns up staged] 

Alderman [courteously — to David]. I will send 
my lawyers to you in the morning. 

David [deeply affected^. We need no lawyers^ Peter. 
I trust thee implicitly. Wind up the partnership thy^- 
self. [He turns away to master his emotion.^ 

Alderman [with a step toward him']. This does not 
mean that I don't respect your feeling; that I would not 
extend to you every help in any way you could ask for 
it. 

David [turning to him]. Thee has been my friend, 
Peter. Thee always will be. 

[Alderman puts out his hand. David tahes it. Both 
men are deeply moved. Alderman goes out hastily at 
the French window, left.] And now, Rachel, I will take 
thee home. 

[The clapper sounds. Caleb goes to the door upstage 
left as Rachel reluctantly and in suffering moves to 
join David at the centre.] 

[Jonathan and Isaac enter.] 

Isaac [to David]. Was thee going home? 

David [with difficulty]. Ay. 

Jonathan [with a smile]. Better stay. 

Isaac [to Caleb]. Hath Joseph acquainted thee with 
our object in coming here tonight.^ [Caleb nods.] 

David [somewhat startled]. Is Joseph returned? 

Caleb. He arrived this evening. [Going to the door 
upf er right.] I'll call him. [He opens the door and 
calis.] Joseph! [Joseph enters.] 

Jonathan [to Joseph]. As thee knows, Isaac and I 
are the Committee appointed by the Meeting to see thee 
and thy Uncle Caleb regarding thy marriage to Rachel 
Worthington. 

Joseph. Ye are welcome. [Seeing David.] David. 

David [kindly but with great reserve]. Joseph. 



74 The Inward Light 

[With an effort.'] Perhaps it were better if Rachel and 
I were not present. 

Joseph [to David]. Next to Uncle Calebs thee is 
closer to me than any other man. and RaChel is she whom 
I love. 

Rachel [with quiet decision]. We will stay, fa- 
ther. 

[David in painful perturbation walks upstage to the 
window so as to be out of the scene.] 

Caleb. If there be no objection, I will call Mehit- 
abel and Priscilla. 

Jonathan. There is none. 

Caleb. The child is old enough to understand the 
significance of this visit, and Mehitabel is our friend. 
[He walks to the door and calls.] Priscilla — Mehita- 
bel. 

[Meanwhile the committee seat themselves — Isaac a 
little above the table at the right; Jonathan above him 
to his left, nearer the centre. Rachel sits upon the 
settee. Joseph stands beside her at the upper end of 
the settee to her right. Priscilla and Mehitabel 
enter.] 

Priscilla [coming into the room and taking in the 
scene]. O-h-h, the committee. 

[She sidles down along the right wall, and sits down 
demurely near the fireplace, Mehitabel directly above 
her to her left.] 

[There is a silence while all settle themselves. In the 
pause Caleb goes to the mantelpiece, lights a taper, 
crosses to the chandelier, lights all the candles in it, 
and once more puts the taper away.] 

Jonathan [to Joseph, after all are properly com- 
posed]. Thee knows our purpose? [Joseph inclines 
his head.] Thee loves Rachel Worthington? 

Joseph [her right hand in his]. Ay, with all my 



The Inward Light 75 

heart and soul. [Jonathan^ Isaac, and Caleb nod, 
pleased.'] 

Isaac [importantly]. Thee realizes the sanctity of 
the marriage relation? 

Joseph. I do. 

Jonathan. And thee would leave all else, and cleave 
only to her thee hath chosen, if occasion required? 

Joseph. I would. [The three men nod.] 

Isaac [clearing his throat — then with a rising in- 
flection.] Thee is competent to support her? 

Joseph. I have been blessed with a sufficiency for 
all needs. 

Isaac [peering over his glasses]. Thee knows of no 
reason why thee two should not wed? 

Caleb [breaking in]. Of course not. 

Isaac [to Caleb — crushingly]. Is thee the bride- 
groom? [Caleb subsides.] 

Jonathan [tentatively]. Thee has incurred no ob- 
ligation that would prevent thee from marrying? 

Joseph. None. 

Jonathan [to Caleb]. And thee, Caleb, does thee 



approve 



Caleb. I have known Rachel since she was a little 
child. Like a rose hath she fulfilled the promise of 
her radiant girlhood. And I love her, for she seems 
even now like a daughter to me. I am happy that she 
is Joseph's choice — nay, rather that in this happiness 
of love they have chosen each other. 

Jonathan [with dry humour at Caleb's elaborate- 
ness] . In short — thee approves ? 

Caleb. In every respect and with most earnest and 
entire approval. 

Isaac Well, thee might say so more briefly. — And 
thee knows of no hindrance to the marriage? 

Caleb [a little annoyed]. Would I tell thee if I did? 



76 The Inward Light 

Isaac [half -rising] . Would thee conceal information 
from the Committee of the Meeting? 

Jonathan [calming him]. It is obvious that Caleb 
knows of no obstacle. [Turning to Caleb.] Answer 
no more than the questions asked thee. 

Caleb [apologetically]. Isaac frets my patience. 

Isaac [with stately superiority — to Caleb]. The 
Committee should have visited thee in due season when 
thee was a young man. This conduct of thine comes 
of thy being a bachelor. [Isaac and Jonathan enjoy 
a quiet Quaker chuckle at this sally.] 

Jonathan [as if summing up the matter]. Joseph 
and Caleb have returned satisfactory answers. [He 
turns and looks at David who stands at the window.] 
Thee has heard all, David .^ [David does not reply — 
his head droops.] [As if calling quietly.] David. 
[David turns, his features betraying a powerful inner 
struggle.] Joseph loves Rachel; is aware of the sacred- 
ness of the bond wherein he would enter; is of excellent 
station and ample means; and Caleb acquiesces. It 
seems hardly necessary to ask thee if thee consents. 

[David looks at the floor and is so long before reply- 
ing that the others look at him curiously, and then after 
a pause glance quietly at one another. Rachel in- 
stinctively reaches for Joseph's hand.] 

Isaac [rising — quietly]. David, thee heard Jona- 
than's question? 

David [raising his head and looking straight before 
him]. I heard it. 

Jonathan [rising]. Thee and Joseph have been so 
intimate. Thee seemed to have looked upon him almost 
as thine own son. 

David [with a great effort]. Ay. 

Jonathan. Well, David, does thee give thy consent? 

David [the words being wrung from him]. I — I 
cannot. 



The Inward Light 77 

[All are startled, hut endeavour to repress a show of 
feeling. Priscilla and Mehitabel rise at the right, 
Rachel at the left.] 

Caleb [also standing]. David^ thee cannot be in 
earnest ? 

David [looking before him]. I have said it. 
[Joseph is regarding David with a troubled countenance. 
Jonathan and Isaac whisper together.] 

Caleb [approaching David at the centre]. What is 
thy thought, David? Joseph loves Rachel. 

David [sadly]. Ay. 

Caleb. And she loves him. 

David. I am persuaded so. 

Caleb [earnestly]. Then what is thy objection, 
David Worthington .^ [David does not answer.] 

Jonathan. Have patience, Caleb, we will come to 
it presently. 

Caleb. What has come over thee, David .^ Hereto- 
fore thee approved. 

David [brokenly]. Ay, I did approve. 

Caleb [with spirit]. Does thee intimate that there is 
some entanglement that prevents my nephew from mar- 
rying thy daughter? [David is still silent — more 
gently.] Well, answer me, David. Does thee know of 
aught ? 

David [brokenly]. Ay, there is an entanglement. 
[Sensation — the next four speeches occur simultan- 
eously.] 

Rachel [with a step toward David]. Father! 

Joseph. Thee is mistaken. 

Priscilla. It's not true! 

Caleb. David, explain thyself. 

Rachel. Before thee speaks, father — and that all 
may hear [she turns to Joseph] I wish thee to know that 
no matter what is said, my faith in thee will never be 
shaken. 



78 The Inward Light 

Joseph [holding her hands to his breasf]. And my 
love for thee will always be the most sacred thing in 
my life. [He turns to David.] Now, David, explain 
thy objection. 

David. It is right that thee should know — that all 
should know — why I cannot consent to this union. 
[There is a pause.] I did approve — ay, I even wel- 
comed it, for I loved Joseph dearly. 

Caleb. I believe thee, David. 

David [raising his head]. And I was proud of him. 

Caleb. Ay. 

David. I thought him destined for some very special 
work. 

Jonathan [reverently]. He indeed seemed called of 
God. 

David. But he was found wanting. 

Jonathan, Isaac, and Caleb [almost in one voice — 
Jonathan and Isaac as though pondering — Caleb ex- 
citedly ] . Wanting ! 

David. Ay, wanting! 

Caleb. Thee must be more explicit. 

David [to Joseph]. A great opportunity was thine, 
and thee failed to grasp it. 

Rachel. But what is thy charge, father? 

David. The World's hosts have declared mutiny 
against the Lord's anointed. They have ensnared 
Joseph Baring until he has forgotten the teachings of his 
religion. 

Rachel. Joseph, this is not true? 

Joseph. No. I have not become ensnared, and I 
have not forgotten our teachings. 

David [sternly, but with the sadness of a great loss]. 
Thee says thee has not forgotten our teaching, yet our 
Society has disowned men for less flagrant violations of 
its principles than thee is guilty of. [The others look at 
one another in consternation.] Thy vote iii the LegiS' 



The Inward Light 79 

lature for troops^ for money to equip them, and thine 
active participation in transporting them — can these 
things be considered aught but thy denial of the efficacy 
of non-resistance and thine advocacy of war? 

Caleb. Thee hates slavery, David, no less than war. 
And cannot thee see that God has hung his balance in 
the sky and will require justice? 

Priscilla [to Mehitabel]. Even Whittier called 
slavery a crime which must be wiped out at any cost. 

Mehitabel. And the Lord will right the wrong, 
David, though it be with a sword of fire. 

Caleb [as David shakes his head despairingly^. 
David, we cannot see how this is to end, but is not our 
faith strong enough to believe that the evil of the moment 
will hold the seed of good that will endure through the 
centuries to come when the bitterness of the present is 
past and forgotten? 

Rachel. Father, the Assembly would have passed 
the bill, anyway. 

Jonathan. The Friends could not have prevented it. 

Isaac. And there were few other supporters of peace. 

David [looking about him in amazement'\. Have ye 
all cast aside, like shackles from the feet, the principles 
of the Friends? [The others, except Joseph, relapse 
into silence.^ 

Joseph [with equal sternness']. Nay, but sometimes 
the Lord tries the mettle of His people. I think this is 
such a time as that. 

David [with deep self-contained power]. For sev- 
enty years we had peace in this state, and we lived in 
harmony with the savages about us. Then as the years 
passed, the Friends were out-numbered by the World's 
People in the colony, and out-voted in the Pennsylvania 
Legislature. From that moment our policy of nonre- 
sistance was overthrown, and from that moment peace 
ceased to exist, and wars were frequent and disastrous 



80 The Inward Light 

with the surrounding Indians. — Ye say the Assembly 
would have passed the bill. Ye say the Friends could 
not have prevented it. True^ his vote might not have 
stemmed the tide, but he would have entered his protest 
against the contagion of battle. Ay, it would have been 
the voice of the Society of Friends speaking through him. 
[David's voice has risen almost prophetically. Now it 
drops to tense silence. His solemn words have shaJcen 
those on the stage. ^ 

[The door on the right above the fireplace is quietly 
opened. Now in the impressive moment of silence, Ben- 
jamin stands in the open doorway, his watch in his hand. 
In the silence he crosses to his father.^ 

Benjamin. Father. [David starts.'] There's but 
a narrow space to make my train. My furlough expires 
in the morning. I couldn't leave without seeing thee 
once more. 

Joseph \_to Rachel in a low voice of explanation']. I 
urged him, but he would not go. 

Benjamin \to David]. I beg thy forgiveness for the 
pain which I have caused thee. 

David [Jiis breast heaving between love and sorrow]. 
My son ! 

Benjamin [with tears in his eyes]. Let me go with 
thy blessing. 

David [in suffering and sorrow, more than in bitter- 
ness]. Shall I invoke the blessing of God on thee when 
thee goes forth to shed thy brother's blood.'* 

[Benjamin, his love for his father all but overpower- 
ing him, turns, shakes hands with Caleb, then crosses to 
Joseph and shakes hands with him. Jonathan and 
Isaac have withdrawn to the upper left.] 

Benjamin [to Rachel]. Sister! 

Rachel. God bless thee, Bennie, and keep thee safe. 

[They embrace. Benjamin is now left of centre.] 

Benjamin [turning, hardly able to speak the words]. 



The Inward Li^ht 81 

I am following my inward lights father, as thee follows 
thine, for the land I love better than life itself. . . . 
May He who is all good have thee in His keeping. 

[David longs to take the hoy in his arms, but cannot 
break through the iron shell of his reserve. With a 
last fond look at David, Benjamin hurries upstage and 
goes out at the door.] 

David [as the door sounds, — crying out in anguish]. 
Oh, my son, Benjamin, my son, my son! [There is a 
moment's pause in which the man's deep sobs are heard. 
Then he turns on the others with the voice of a lion, al- 
though the sobs are still shaking him.] My boy goes 
forth to offer sacrifice to Moloch and to sprinkle the 
horns of that idol's altar with human blood. [Looks at 
Joseph.] And he in whom my heart delighted, my 
more than son. gives him and thousands like him his aid 
and support. [Turning to Caleb, Jonathan and 
Isaac] And ye ask me to give my daughter to him, 
and countenance such doings as fill the very eyes of God 
with tears. — Whatever ye may be, I am a Friend, the 
son of Friends, serving one Master, the Prince of Peace. 
— I cannot allow this marriage. 

[the curtain falls] 

[It rises instantly. David is seen leading Rachel to 
the door, upper left. Isaac and Jonathan are going 
out of the French window, left. Priscilla and Mehit- 
abel are standing at the upper right. Joseph and 
Caleb, left of centre and right of centre respectively, 
stand facing each other at the front of the stage, as 

the curtain falls] 



ACT III 



ACT III 

Scene: The drawing-room of the Worthington 
home, a colonial apartment of the utmost simplicity and 
dignity with its hare, cream-tinted walls and white col- 
umns and pilasters. There are no paintings on the walls 
nor hric-a-hrac. It is the room the outside of which 
was seen in Act I. 

The main entrance is a mahogany door at the right of 
the rear wall, recessed outwardly and framed in with 
delicate white columns. It opens upon the stoop with 
the steps leading down into the garden. In the same 
wall, to the left of the door, are two nobly proportioned 
windows with small panes and semi-circular tops, the 
bottoms reaching almost waist high. A white fireplace 
and mantelpiece are in the right wall at the front of the 
stage. Above in the same wall, is a mahogany door, 
fitting into white fj-ame-worh, which leads to an adjoin- 
ing room. In the left wall, a corresponding door leads 
to other rooms. 

The furniture is of the purest carved Hepplewhite, of 
the maker's favourite shield design. The mahogany ta- 
ble, of which the sides can be folded down, occupies the 
centre of the room, with an arm-chair behind it facing 
the audience. A small chair is at the right of the table 
facing left; a similar chair in front of the table a little 
to the left of the centre, facing right. Before this last 
chair, a little away from the table, is a small sewing- 
stand. There are several other chairs, one in each of 
the upper corners of the room, and a similar one on 
each side, down stage. 

Above the table is a silver hanging-lamp in keeping 
85 



86 The Inward Light 

with the room in its purity of line. A slate-coloured bell- 
pull about five or six inches wide is on the wall to the 
right of the windows. On the table are unwrapped 
bandages, old linen for lint, and a China bowl. On the 
mantelpiece are two silver candlesticks and a silver box 
for matches. 

It is First Day (Sunday), July 21, ten days after 
the events of the preceding act, and at that glowing hour 
of summer evening before the sunset gives way to twi- 
light. The main door at the bach is wide open and the 
windows are raised. 

As the curtain rises Priscilla^ Mehitabel, and 
Rachel are sitting at the centre table; Rachel in the 
left chair, facing right; Priscilla in the chair to the 
right of the table; and Mehitabel at the bach. Mehit- 
abel is hnitting, Priscilla is scraping lint, and Rachel 
is engaged on a piece of sewing. 

Priscilla wears sprigged albatross cloth, a white 
ground with figures of blue. Her hair is arranged in 
the popular water-fall, with a wide-meshed net of black 
chenille. 

Mehitabel's dress is a delicate buff, with a snowy 
herchief and cuffs of fine lawn. A lawn cap covers her 
hair. 

Rachel is gowned in sapphire-blue silh. Her hair, 
parted and drawn bach at each side, is arranged in a 
long chignon with two small curls at the bach. 

Mehitabel [to Rachel — mildly expostulating]. 
But half his fortune! 

Rachel. Surely thee is not becoming worldly-wise, 
Mehitabel ? 

Priscilla. Rachel, it is an enormous gift! 

Rachel. How could father do otherwise, and be what 
he is? 

Mehitabel. And he persists in his purpose to estab- 
lish a hospital? 



The Inward Light 87 

Rachel. If the Government will accept it. He 
would do morc^ but there are the men at the factory to be 
cared for. 

Mehitabel [protestingly]. Surely he doesn't pro- 
pose to keep them on the payroll! 

Rachel. As long as he can. 

Priscilla. Even though Peter and he have dissolved 
partnership? [Rachel nods.^ 

Mehitabel. And the factory is close to shutting 
down for lack of orders.'' 

Rachel. Yes. 

Priscilla [recovering her voice'\. Well, for once, 
Meeting House language fails to express my feelings ! ! ! 

Rachel. Yet even I with all my yearning after vani- 
ties approve. 

Priscilla [bursting out]. Of giving half one's for- 
tune away for war relief; then planning to build a hos- 
pital; and then letting what's left dribble away in keep- 
ing workmen employed in a mill that has no work? 

Rachel [laying down her work]. Don't you under- 
stand? Father's heart is torn and bleeding. War is 
here, and he can do nothing now to oppose it. But he 
can relieve the distress caused by it even if it takes all 
that he has. 

Priscilla [dryly]. Well, if he wants to get rid of his 
money, he's going about it in the right way. 

Mehitabel. But how will thee live? 

Rachel [laying her hand across the table on Mehit- 
abel's]. We'll find a way. — I tell you I was proud of 
father this morning in the Meeting, sitting up there in 
the elders' bench. 

Priscilla [meaningfully]. Despite all? 

Rachel. Nay, Priscilla, because of all. Does thee 
think I yield to my father's commands because he is the 
stern parent and I the docile offspring of the kind I 
occasionally saw abroad in the artificial comedies of the 



88 The Inward Light 

playhouse. Nay^ there is that in him which compels 
reverence. And he is old, and has suffered greatly. 
[With a change.] Besides, I have not given up hope 
of reconciling him and Joseph. [She rises and turns 
away to the left.] But it is not so easy as thee might 
think. [Mehitabel and Priscilla rise sympatheti- 
cally.] 

Mehitabel [going to Rachel flutteringly]. There, 
there, Rachel. 

Priscilla. You poor dear ! — you'll have me snivel- 
ling too if you don't stop. 

Rachel [trying to laugh the mood away]. It was a 
momentary weakness. I am myself again. 

Priscilla [as the three move hack to their places at 
the table]. Besides, no man's worth it. — Even if he is 
my brother — the jackanapes ! 

Mehitabel [reprovingly]. Priscilla! 

Priscilla [as they seat themselves — to Rachel]. I 
believe we see him even less than thee does. 

Rachel [her lips trembling]. That's not at all. 

Priscilla [running on]. Well, very little, anyhow. 
Why only a couple of nights ago, along came a telegram 
and, bounce ! he was out of the house like a shot. 
[With comical serenity.] And we haven't seen him or 
heard from him since. 

Rachel [concerned]. Did he say where he was go- 
ing? 

Priscilla [off-hand]. Washington, I think. Every- 
body's going there these days. [To the other two rvith 
a show of secrecy.] Come hither. [She draws an en- 
velope from the little reticule on her wrist.] 

Mehitabel. A letter. [Priscilla hands it to 
Rachel.] 

Rachel [pressing her hand to her heart]. From 
Benjamin. — We haven't heard from him since he went 
back after his furlough. 



The Inward Light 89 

Priscilla. Read it aloud. 

Rachel [opening the letter and reading]. "Dear 
old Priscilla: — " 

Priscilla. Old^ indeed! The greybeard! 

Rachel [smiling through her tears — then proceed- 
ing]. "Dear old Priscilla: — 

" Did thee see the moon last night and hear the night 
hawks and the owls? And in thy mind's eye did thee 
behold the gallant figure of a handsome youth doing 
sentry duty, the starlight upon his pale, young face? 
— That handsome youth, dear lady, was I." 

Mehitabel. Doesn't that sound just like the 
lad? 

Priscilla. Always making a show of somebody or 
himself. 

Rachel [continuing the reading]. "Does thee ask 
if I am sorry to be a soldier? Nay, by all the gods and 
godlets, nay. Why, respected friend, — " 

Priscilla. There he goes again! 

Rachel [reading]. "What was I at home? A 
Quaker turkey-cock strutting to school. What am I 
here? A son of Father Abraham. If I die, it is to 
have lived in his great heart, and to be immortal in the 
lives of those for whom I shall have — passed beyond. 
Besides, who knows, I may come back and be elected to 
Congress — in short from the sublime to the ridicu- 
lous — " 

Mehitabel [wistfully]. Wisdom and foolery and 
generous youth as prodigal as Maytime. 

Rachel [reading once more]. "This was merely to 
greet thee. So I will close with love to thee, dear Pris- 
cilla, and thy Uncle Caleb, and thy brother Joseph, and 
thy niece Harmony, and thy nephew William Penn, bless 
'em both. And remember me to Mehitabel and Peter. 
And Priscilla, when thee sees Rachel, will thee give my 
dear sister my love? Do not mention me to my father. 



90 The Inward Light 

Thee knows in what love I hold him, but I would not 
give him pain. 

" Ever thy much obliged, very obedient, humble serv- 
ant, 

" Benjamin Worthington." 

[Rachel lifts the letter to her lips. Then she gives 
it bach to Priscilla.] 

Mehitabel [working at her task]. Maybe Joseph 
will see Benjamin in Washington. 

Priscilla. Maybe and maybe not. Why, Joseph 
was going so fast, it was only the weight of his carpet- 
bag that kept him from flying. 

[Caleb, hand in hand with little Harmony and Wil- 
liam Penn, enters at the garden door. He wears his 
hat in the house. The children have bouquets of old- 
fashioned flowers. Harmony is in green challie trimmed 
with black velvet ribbons. William Penn wears a linen 
suit with brown jacket, and Caleb is in black.] 

Caleb [to the three women — whimsically']. Which 
are the busiest, the hands or the tongues? 

Rachel [going toward him, Priscilla and Mehita- 
bel remaining seated]. What an unkind remark! 

Caleb [who has moved to Priscilla — his arm affec- 
tionately on her shoulder]. Well, if thee had as much 
experience of my Priscilla as I. 

Priscilla [pressing his hand lovingly to her cheek]. 
Uncle Caleb, thee well knows I am a woman of few 
words. 

Caleb. Like the lady named Echo. 

Priscilla [glancing up]. Who's she? 

Caleb. A nymph who lives only in her voice. 

Harmony [holding out her flowers to Rachel]. 
Here are some flowers for thee, Rachel. 

William Penn [downright]. I got some too. 

Rachel [taking the flowers — and kissing Harmony]. 
Thee dearest baby. [Laying the flowers for a moment 



The Inward Light 91 

on the table and lifting William Penn up and kissing 
him.] And thee^ adorable cherub! 

William Penn [sourly]. I hate bein' kissed. 

Priscilla [dryly]. Wait till thee gets older. 

Caleb. Is David at home? 

Rachel [setting down William Penn]. Yes, in his 
room. I'll have Gladius call him. [She draws the bell- 
pull.] 

William Penn [abruptly]. I'm hungry. 

Rachel [smiling]. Famished pumpkin! [Gladius 
enters at the door left.] Will thee tell father that Caleb 
is here ? And will thee see if there is some spiced cake ? 
[She puts the flowers in the bowl on the table.] 

William Penn [hastening across the stage]. C'mon, 
Gladius. 

Harmony [who has crossed to him — quaintly]. 
Where are thy manners, William Penn? 

William Penn [with manly scorn]. I don't want 
manners. I want somethin' to eat. 

Gladius [amused]. Come, chilluns. [Gladius and 
the two children go out left.] 

Priscilla [as she rolls up her work]. Well, I've 
scraped enough lint for the whole Army of the Potomac. 

Caleb [banteringly]. Peter should get thee a com- 
mission in the Ordnance. — Have ye seen him in his new 
major's uniform? 

Rachel. No. 

Caleb [grinning]. Very impressive. But I think he 
would like it better if he were a Zouave and wore billowy 
red trousers and a fez. 

Mehitabel [rising and indicating the articles on the 
table]. We had better gather these up. 

Caleb [mischievously]. Perhaps it were wiser. 
Isaac and Jonathan are coming, and if they behold thee 
working on the Sabbath — 

Rachel [while she, Mehitabel and Priscilla begin 



92 The Inward Light 

putting the table to rights]. Even father raises no ob- 
jection to relief work on First Day. 

Caleb [genially]. There's at least one good thing 
about this war. 

Mehitabel. What is that? 

Caleb. It has given women something to do. 

Mehitabel. I think we have been much maligned. 

Rachel [crossing with the bowl of flowers right front, 
and placing it on the mantelpiece]. Is it not for this we 
are women: that in good or evil fortune we may help 
those whom we love.^ 

Priscilla [as she and Mehitabel fold down the ends 
of the table]. That may be thy idea. For this am I a 
woman^ that I may trample on the worm, man! 

[Jonathan and Isaac enter at the garden door.] 

Jonathan. The benediction of the Sabbath Day be 
upon all. 

Caleb. Upon ye as well, Jonathan and Isaac. 

Isaac [soberly]. It is goodly to enjoy the perfect 
rest of First Day. [The three women steal guilty 
glances at one another.] 

Caleb. Yes, we have been very comfortable here. 

Priscilla [at his side — softly]. Thee is an old 
hypocrite. But I love thee. [He pinches her cheek 
fondly.] 

Rachel [pleasantly — to Jonathan and Isaac]. 
Won't 3^e be seated.^ [They come into the room and take 
chairs.] 

Mehitabel [as she puts on her bonnet]. We had bet- 
ter hasten. These summer showers come down before 
thee knows it. 

[Gladius appears with the two children in the door- 
way left.] 

Gladius [to Rachel]. Marse David say he be down 
presen'ly. 



The Inward Light 93 

Rachel [to William Penn]. Well^ William Penn, 
are the pangs of thy hunger assuaged? 

Harmony [blurting out]. He stuffed some cake into 
his pocket. [Gladius grins.] 

William Penn [turning on Harmony]. Tattle- 
tale! [The two children stick their tongues out at each 
other.] 

Caleb [sepulchrally]. Oh the black cat with the 
shining scissors^ and oh poor Harmony and William 
Penn Lightfoot who some day will never more have any 
extra tongue left! [The two children laugh in high 
glee.] 

Priscilla. Come on, you ragamuffins. [She takes 
Harmony by the hand. Mehitabel takes William 
Penn.] 

Rachel [going along to the doorway with Priscilla 
and Mehitabel and the children]. Shall we meet to- 
morrow? 

Mehitabel. Yes, at my home. [At the doorway to 
the others.] Peace be with thee. 

Caleb. And thee and thine, Mehitabel. 

[Isaac and Jonathan bow their heads as if in ac- 
cord. Mehitabel and Priscilla and the two children 
go out of the door and down into the garden.] 

Rachel [coming back into the room]. It is getting 
a trifle darker. Shall I light the lamp ? 

Caleb. Oh, no, don't trouble thyself, Rachel. 

[David enters at the doorway left. He seems to have 
aged somewhat, and his face is worn with grief. But if 
anything he is more silvery, and has the gentleness of 
one who has greatly suffered.] 

David. Peace and welcome in my home. [The three 
men rise and bow reverently.] 

Rachel [coming to her father]. Can I get thee any- 
thing, father? 



94 The Inward Light 

David [^taking her hand and caressing it^. Nay, my 
Rachel. 

Rachel. I will go to my room with thy permission. 

David. Say rather with my blessing. [He kisses her 
upon her forehead and she turns and goes out of the 
room right.] My daughter is my treasure. — I dreamed 
of a lofty happiness for her — union with the future 
leader of the Friends. Dreams, dreams — ! 

[With a sigh he moves to the arm-chair at the back of 
the table and sits down. Jonathan sits at his right; 
Isaac draws a chair from near the window, and sits at 
Jonathan's right, a little farther away from the table. 
Caleb is in Rachel's chair at the left front of the ta- 
ble.] 

Jonathan [in a low tone to Caleb in the pause]. 
Has thee knowledge of Joseph's mission to Washington.'' 
[Caleb motions him to silence, but David has heard.] 

David. Nay, do not forbear. A small hurt is not felt 
in a greater one. What is the sound of a name compared 
with the disappointment of a lifetime of hope in the 
man? [They are silent.] 

Isaac [clearing his throat — as if to change the sub- 
ject.] We are come for thy opinion, David, in a matter 
of weight. 

David [looking up from his abstraction]. And what 
is that.^ 

Jonathan [taking a roll of names from his pocket]. 
The admitting of new members to our Society. 

David. How can that be weighty? We have never 
had more than a few applicants in any year. 

Caleb. The committee has not desired to trouble 
thee in thy trials, David — 

Jonathan [continuing]. Else would thee be more 
in touch with the circumstances. 

Isaac [explaining]. The applicants this year are 
greatly in excess of what they ever were before. 



The Inward Light 95 

David [his face lighting up]. That gives us larger 
hope. 

Caleb [gently]. Not all men are pure-minded^ 
David. 

David. Thee puzzles me. 

Jonathan [showing the roll]. It is surmised that 
some of these applicants desire an excuse to avoid mili- 
tary service. 

Caleb [nodding]. As members of the Society of 
Friends, they would be deemed conscientious objec- 
tors. 

Isaac [dubiously]. An enlarged membership is de- 
sirable, of course. 

Jonathan. Naturally there is that side of it. 

Caleb. What does thee say, David? 

David. I abhor war. With every protesting power 
of my soul I abhor it, and I am inclined with sympathy 
toward any man who shares my horror of its iniquity. 

Caleb. Ay, that is known of all. 

David [with a touch of fire]. But we should allow 
no man in his dread of death or cowardice of battle 
to become a Friend, unless he be willing to die every 
death for the faith which he espouses. Has our Society 
endured all these years that in this, our supreme test, 
we should throw a protecting cloak round hypocrisy? 

Caleb. Some of these applications may be in good 
faith. 

Isaac. But I am always suspicious of a sudden 
change of heart. 

Jonathan, Ay, especially in matters of this kind. 

David. The Society of Friends is no place for shirk- 
ers. Much as I deplore the soldier's occupation, which 
is avowedly to kill, I cannot but admire the spirit which 
sends him forth to do as a soldier that which he would 
never do as a man. His devotion sanctifies him, and 
makes him call sacrifice that which I call murder. Mis- 



96 The Inward Light 

taken as he may be^ he lives for a cause. [Tossing aside 
the roll.] What do these fellows live for? 

Jonathan [to David]. What does thee suggest? 

David. That we admit no new members until the end 
of the war. 

Caleb [as if the matter were settled]. Need any- 
thing further be said? 

Jonathan. I think not. 

Isaac. I agree. 

Jonathan [to David]. Will thee allow us to speak 
of a more personal matter? 

Caleb [disarmingly]. As bosom friends and not as 
a committee? 

David [to Caleb]. There is nobody to whom I 
should more willingly listen than to thee, 

Caleb [gathering himself together to speak]. David 
— I — that is we — [To Jonathan.] Nay, do thee 
tell him. 

Jonathan. We crave thy indulgence for touching 
upon so private a matter — 

David [kindly]. Proceed. 

Isaac. It concerns thy benefactions. 

Jonathan. Especially now that Peter and thee are 
no longer together . . . 

Caleb. And thee is keeping the mill running at a 
loss . . . 

Jonathan [deferentially]. Thee is giving away so 
much. 

Isaac. Will it not impair thy fortune? 

Caleb. Is thee doing justice to thyself, David? 

David [his suffering heart overflowing. Laying his 
hands on those of Caleb and Jonathan]. Oh, my 
friends, my friends. [Unable to go on, he rises, turns 
his hack, and wipes his eyes.] What is my paltry for- 
tune compared with my hurt, for it is as deep as the 
sea ? My boy, my boy ! The day he asked me for my 



The Inward Li^ht 97 

blessing — how could I give it to him? And yet — 
[In lamentation.] Oh, my son, Benjamin, could I but 
have thee back in these arms, my little boy. Then would 
thee know how thy father loves thee. 

Caleb [gently]. He knows thy love does not fail 
him. 

David. I have thought of him exposed to every dan- 
ger—the terror by night, the pestilence, the devouring 
sword. And I have thought of the thousands of other 
parents whose boys are as dear to them as my boy is to 
me. Oh, could my money help to bring them back safe 
and sound ! Could it help to restore them to their loved 
ones or to ease even in the slightest this misery that fills 
the world, with my two hands would I fling my gold from 
me — to the last ringing coin of it would I fling it away. 
[He weeps.] 

Caleb [sympathetically]. Thee is not thyself, David. 

David [with a cry]. Nay, I am not myself, not 
David Worthington. I am but a pinch of fragile flesh 
and spirit among the millions who are bound to this 
flery wheel that is racking the world. [He sinks into his 
chair at the head of the table, hows his head upon his 
hands and sohs.] 

Jonathan [after a pause, laying his hand on David's 
shoulder]. Take courage. [Pause.] We'll see thee at 
some other time. Come, Isaac. [Jonathan and Isaac 
go out at the door, upper right.] 

David [lifting his head and drying his eyes]. Is thee 
still there. Caleb.^ 

Caleb [a little away from the table to the right]. 

David. Thee sees how bowed I am — I that prided 
myself on my strength. 

Caleb. It is the strongest that have the greatest ca- 
pacity for suffering. 

David [as if in confession]. There are times when 



98 The Inward Light 

in my anguish I almost forget my faith which makes 
me steadfast. 

Caleb. There is a Providence in the world. What 
are we.^ A star-dust of dreams and thoughts and mem- 
ories blown in the wind. Yet the stars live for ever. 

David. And what is life ? — A broken cobweb, a 
vanished rainbow, a sunbeam through the mist, a soap- 
bubble — that before thee can say, "How beautiful!" 
bursts before thine eyes. 

Caleb. Yet it bears miraculous lilies which turn to 
silver ere they turn to dust. [Rachel enters at the 
doorway, right.] 

Rachel. Has the committee left .^ 

Caleb [whimsically']. The better part of it, Rachel, 
both in numbers and in righteousness. [A faint rumble 
of thunder is heard.] 

Rachel. There is a storm brewing. 

David [moving toward the windows at the back]. 
Ay. " The Lord has His way in the whirlwind and the 
storm, and clouds are the dust of His feet." 

Caleb [also at the window — the sky is a leaden 
silver]. I cannot question why the Friends have no 
artists, that they even discourage the attempt to copy 
the work of God when we can see such a sky as that. 

Rachel [to her father — beside him]. Thee has ever 
said that the Friends are artists of life. The forms that 
they mould and the pictures they paint are not statuary 
or paintings but the souls of men. 

David. Ay, and when I see how we mismanage the 
business of life, it make me impatient almost with the 
Father who permits such bungling. I speak rather of 
myself than of others. [With much gentleness and hu- 
mility.] As never before do I realize the meaning of 
the words: " Judge not that ye be not judged." 

Caleb [turning sideways to face David and Rachel 
so that his profile shows against the lurid light.] Out of 



The Inward Light 99 

the bungling and suffering comes consolation, even as 
the Lord is marshalling His forces now to bring renewed 
life and strength to His creatures. [There is a roll of 
thunder.] 

David \to Rachel]. Will thee be good enough to 
bring me the Book from my room? 

Rachel. Gladly, father. [She crosses and goes out 
left.] 

David [to Caleb as the light becomes fainter]. I 
have a leaning toward the Psalmist tonight. He was a 
man whose heart touched the length and breadth of sin 
and sorrow. But repentance brought him peace. 

Caleb [buttoning up his coat and turning up his collar 
as he makes ready to go]. He is thy counterpart in 
more ways than mere name. 

David [looking up, surprised]. David, the Psalmist, 
my counterpart? 

Caleb [humorously]. Well, he was very headstrong 
at times. 

David [putting his hand on Caleb's shoulder]. Ah, 
my friend, to be driven of the Spirit as an open boat 
in a great storm. Will thee blame me if my sail is 
whipped to ribbons? [The room has gradually been 
growing dusky.] 

Caleb [crossing to the doorway]. Nay, with all my 
soul, I wish thee a safe home-coming and tranquillity of 
heart, 

[Rachel enters, left, with an old, worn Bible.] 

Rachel. Is thee going, Caleb? 

Caleb. I can cross the gardens before the storm 
comes on. [Making ready to go.] Peace be to thee, 
David, and to thee, Rachel. 

Rachel. And to thee, Caleb. 

David [gently]. And to all who are suffering upon 
the stricken earth this night. 

[Caleb goes out, and David closes the door. Rachel 



100 The Inward Light 

crosses to the table and places the Bible on it. A strong 
rustling breeze comes in through the windows.^ 

Rachel [to her father^. Had not the windows bet- 
ter be closed, father? 

David. Ay. 

[^He moves to the window near the door and pulls it 
down, and then draws down the other.'] 

[Rachel meanwhile has crossed to the fireplace and 
procured some sulphur matches from the silver case on 
the mantelshelf. Then she moves back to the table.] 

[David seats himself in the arm-chair back of the 
table.] 

[Rachel draws down the hanging lamp on its chains 
over the table, strikes a match, and lights the lamp. 
Then she lifts the lamp back to its place. The light 
throws into strong relief the faces of father and daugh- 
ter, leaving the rest of the room in comparative shadow. 
Rachel sits on the chair in front of the table. David 
opens the Book.] 

[The sound of powerful hoof-beats outside is heard.] 

David [raising his head]. Somebody is riding hard. 

Rachel. I don't wonder, with the storm coming on. 
[The sound of the hoofs ceases.] 

David [having found his place, begins to read aloud]. 
" He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High 
shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty . . ." 
[There is the crash of the knocker at the door. Rachel 
raises her hand to her heart.] 

David [raising his head]. Who can that be? 

Rachel [hastening to the door before her father can 
do so]. I'll see. [David has come from behind the 
table and steps to the centre of the room. Rachel opens 
the door and Joseph enters. He is haggard, making 
every effort to compose himself.] Joseph!! 

Joseph [his eyes on her]. Rachel. [He pulls him- 
self together, and stands right of centre facing David. 



The Inward Light 101 

There is a tense pause. His breath laboured.] I would 
not trespass upon thee^ David, if I could help it. 

David [m salutation, with grave gentleness and yearn- 
ing restraint]. Peace be to thee, Joseph. 

Joseph [gratefully]. I thank thee. 

Rachel. When did thee return from Washington? 

Joseph. Just now. 

Rachel [intuitively]. What brought thee in such 
haste ? 

Joseph. Necessity. 

David [kindly]. Thee speaks very gravely. 

Joseph [with difficulty]. Ay, it is a grave matter. 

David [benignly]. If thee is in difficulty and I can 
help thee, speak thy need, Joseph, for all that I have is 
thine. 

Joseph. Nay, David, the matter touches not me — 
not in that sense. I have a message for thee. 

David. From whom.^ 

Rachel [in anxiety]. Benjamin? 

Joseph. Yes. 

David [swaying under the shock of premonition] . Is 
all well with the lad? [Joseph, unable to speak, shakes 
his head.] 

Rachel [at the right of Joseph, taking a step toward 
him in dread]. He is not . . .? 

Joseph [divining her thought]. No, he was living 
when I left. 

David [his face pinched and drawn]. Is the boy ill? 

Joseph. Very. 

David [in suffering — with an outcry]. Give tongue 
to the worst of thy news, Joseph. Let us not linger in 
this agony of ignorance. 

Rachel. Was he wounded? 

Joseph. Nay, camp fever. 

David. And did not let me know ! 

Joseph. He was conscious of thy displeasure. 



102 The Inward Light 

David [in uncontrolled unhappiness and self-re- 
proach]. Nay, not displeasure, but great pain, Joseph. 
Could my boy feel that his father would abate one jot 
of love toward him? For my sternness hath God vis- 
ited this upon me, that my lad should be near to death 
and yet dread to tell me. 

Joseph. He sends his love. 

David. Has he good tendance.^ 

Joseph. The best I could procure for him. [His 
expression giving evidence of what he has seen.] I had 
to work through hundreds of sick and wounded in the 
confusion of improvised hospitals before I could come to 
him. Oh, David, the sights, — the sights ! 

David [suddenly losing control of himself]. War, 
thee demon, thee monster of madness, forced on men by 
the madness of the human race, I curse thee. Back to the 
fiery hell where thee belongs. With the deep agony of 
all who have ever suffered through thee, be thee for ever 
accursed. 

Rachel [going to him, and laying her hand upon his 
arm]. Let us be thankful that our boy still lives. 

David [distractedly coming back to himself] . Yea, 
— thou, oh Lord, quickenest me in my affliction. 

Joseph [to David]. Benjamin besought thy forgive- 
ness, and bade me bring thee to him. 

Rachel.. Why did thee not telegraph? 

Joseph. I wanted to, but he feared a message might 
get lost, — not be delivered. The boy was beside him- 
self to see David and thee, and to set his mind at rest 
I promised to go myself to fetch you. 

David. When is the next train? 

Joseph. At eight o'clock. 

David [drawing out his watch]. That just gives us 
time. 

Rachel [moving to the bell-pull and drawing it]. 
I'll have Gladius pack thy bag. I'll get my own. 



The Inward Light 103 

Joseph [with dread and horror] . That's what war is ' 
David. Thee is learning now what I have always 
Itnown. -^ 

[Gladius enters left.] 

Rachel [^o Gladius]. Will thee pack father's ba^ 
as quickly as thee can.? 

David. I'll help thee, Gladius. We shall make 
greater speed. 

[Gladius and David go out left. Rachel is right of 
centre, Joseph left. There is a momentary constraint 
between them. She lifts mute, tear-stained eyes to him. 
1 here is a pause while both look at each other. Then he 
gathers her into his arms.] 

Rachel [sobbing]. Joseph. 

Joseph [stroking her hair] . My dear one, my Rachel 
[In a low tone, rapidly.] I have thought of thee al- 

'^•T.7ir/'^.^.''"f ^^ *^^ ^^^^ ^^^ ^y beloved; and at 
night filled with the moaning of wounded men while I 
sat beside Benjamin's bed. 

Rachel. If only I could have been there to minister 
to nim. 

Joseph. And yet I did so dread this homecoming 

tTee ^"^''^ "''' ^^^^^^ *^^* ^^''''^^^ ^" ""^"^^ *^ 

Rachel. Will Benjamin recover.?^ 

Joseph. I hope so. He is young. 

Rachel. My little brother - sick unto death. It 
doesnt seem credible. 

Joseph. Nay, a terrible and mysterious evil has 
swept into our lives, and we hardly know what it is except 
that we are sufFering. My old horror of war was never 
so strong. I can almost agree with thy father that in 
no way, either directly or indirectly, should thoughtful 
men have a part in it. 

Rachel It was because he thought thee wavered 
from that truth that he forbade our marriage. 



104 The Inward Light 

Joseph. We shall find a way. [With intensity of 
feeling.] There is no power or domination that can 
keep thee from me. [He takes her in his arms again.] 
I love thee and only thee^ thou beloved among women. 
[Their lips meet. He releases her, reaches into his 
bosom, and takes thence a tea rose, which he gives to 
her.] 

Rachel. A tea rose. 

Joseph. The others are in the vase at Benjamin's 
bedside. 

Rachel. Let it be as a pledge of our love from him. 
[She raises the flower in the palms of her hands to her 
lips.] 

Joseph [taking her in his arms]. " Set me as a seal 
upon thine heart." 

Rachel. " As a seal upon thine arm." 

Joseph. " For love is strong as death." [Their lips 
meet again. They step apart. The door opens and 
David enters left.] 

David. Such few articles as I had to lay out for 
Gladius, I have already chosen. Is thee prepared, 
daughter ? 

Rachel. It will take me but a few minutes. [Mov- 
ing toward him.] Father. 

David. Ay. 

Rachel. I have obeyed thee in all things not only 
because thee is my father and I honour thee, but becausie 
I love thee. I obeyed thee even when thee sundered me 
from Joseph. 

David. Gladly would I have given all that I had, 
could I have done otherwise. 

[Joseph has moved up stage. There are occasional 
flashes of lightning, hut no storm yet.] 

Rachel. Now thee must take back thy word, and 
consent to our marriage. 

David [gently]. Does thee not see that I cannot.^ 



The Inward Light 105 

Rachel [imploringly]. Thee has only me left now 
and Joseph^ and Benjamin is ill. Who knows what will 
happen? Why should thee make all our lives so deeply 
unhappy? Has thee not often said^ "Have we so 
long to live in this world that one pitiful and suffering 
human being should hawk at another ? " 

David. Is not thy grief my grief as well? Does not 
everything that Joseph feels affect me too^ he who was 
and is so close and so dear to me? 

Joseph [coming forward]. David, our hope and aim 
are the same. It is the means employed about which we 
do not agree. 

David. But thee has approved of taking up arms. 

Joseph [bitterly]. Nay, not approved. Only most 
unwillingly consented. For could I see the goal reached 
by another road, I would gladly follow that. 

David. Does thee not believe that peace is the best 
of all God's gifts ? 

Joseph. David, heed me. There is more than peace 
involved. Nothing but a refiner's fire can burn away 
this evil of slavery; and, David, emancipation will come. 

David. Does thee think so? 

Joseph. It must, for our country, as Lincoln said, is 
the hope and light of the world. When I look into the 
future and think what a tremendous destiny awaits 
us . . . [Rousing himself from his abstraction.] But 
before that comes, the North and South must be united, 
and that can only be when slavery is wiped out. 

David. But the destruction of human life ! 

Joseph. And yet love itself is demanding it. This 
challenge of nineteen centuries, David, is an abolitionist 
older than our day. It is older even than the moun- 
tains or the sea. [His voice thrilling with feeling.] 
Ay, it was before Christ, before Moses, and it lives and 
will live, this bond of the brotherhood of man. 

David [softly]. Love and Peace are the same. 



106 The Inward Light 

Rachel. Joseph loves it as thee does, father. Even 
now he said to me his horror of vi^ar was never so great. 
He would almost agree with thee that no thinking man 
should in any way have aught to do with it. 

David. Oh, that my ej^es might behold it, my ears 
hear it — Peace ! 

Joseph. Thee has dreamed of peace, so have I. 
Thee would have it now at no matter what cost. I would 
have it when our nation has grown so strong and so just 
that she proclaims peace with every flutter of her flag. 
[David is moved, hut unconvinced.^ 

Rachel. Father.^ 

David [gently]. Yes, Rachel. 

Rachel. Has thee any other objection to Joseph? 

David. Nay, he was all that I could ask. [Rachel 
without a word, lifts her hands in supplication.] 

Joseph. David, will thee give me the cherished right 
to care for thy daughter? [His lips trembling.] I sol- 
emnly affirm that her happiness will be my chief concern. 

David. I believed I could not endure to see thee 
again. But thee may be right, for my eyes are becoming 
dim with long straining after the vision. 

Rachel. It is my life's happiness. 

Joseph [standing a little above her, and holding her 
left hand in his right]. And mine. 

David [overcome]. I cannot resist thee longer. But 
should the day ever come when thee sees thy most cher- 
ished ambition dashed to the ground like a potter's ves- 
sel, then will thee understand me. [He turns his bach 
on them. Joseph raises Rachel's hands to his lips.] 
Make thyself ready, Rachel. I will see how Gladius is 
progressing. [He goes out.] 

Rachel. Out of the depths of affliction happiness 
comes, for this is the happiest moment of my life. 

Joseph [as he takes her in his arms]. Loving thee is 
the greatest happiness I have known or shall ever know. 



The Inward Light 107 

Rachel [gently disengaging herself]. Now I must 
leave thee. 

Joseph. Go, my dearest one, and the unseen cheru- 
bim follow thee with love. 

[He gently releases her hands. She goes out of the 
door left. Joseph looks after her a moment. It has 
grown much darker outside.] 

[The beating of a horse's hoofs is heard drowned in- 
stantly by a peal of thunder pierced by a flash of vivid 
lightning. The horse's hoofs again are heard.] 

[Joseph hastily walks to the window and looks out. 
A second roll of thunder roars through the sky; and a 
flash of incandescent lightning shows the young man's 
figure at the window. The horse's hoofs are heard for 
another moment, and then are still.] 

[Joseph comes back to the centre of the room. The 
knocker on the door resounds loudly. Joseph pauses 
and waits an instant. The knock is repeated as if with 
urgency. Joseph goes to the door and opens it.] 

[Alderman enters in riding cloak and soft hat. His 
appearance is that of a man who has ridden hard.] 

Joseph. Peter — was it you riding? 

Alderman. Yes. I was looking for you. 

Joseph. Come in, man, and rest. 

Alderman. There'll be time for that later. 

Joseph. How did you know I was here.^ 

Alderman. The station master said you were headed 
in this direction. I had no time to lose on my way to 
headquarters. 

Joseph. What are you doing there? 

Alderman [throwing back his cloak, exhibiting his 
uniform]. I'm a Major of Ordnance now. — Joseph, 
we've been defeated! 

Joseph [hardly realizing]. What? 

Alderman. At Bull Run. 

Joseph [starting]. The Union forces? 



108 The Inward Light 

Alderman [in extreme bitterness]. The army of the 
Shenandoah with Johnson was at Manassas; Jackson 
evacuated Harper's Ferry — 

Joseph [who has followed his thought — rapidly]. 
With Beauregard at Bull Run — 

Alderman. McDowell with our men took the initia- 
tive — fell into the trap. — At five o'clock this after- 
noon — 

Joseph [in alarm']. Well.^ 

Alderman. A telegram. The Union forces in full 
retreat ! 

Joseph [stunned]. Impossible! 

Alderman. It's a fact. The Army of the Potomac 
is streaming tonight toward Washington^ thirty miles dis- 
tant^ utterly demoralized. 

Joseph [with sudden realization]. Then the capital 
is in danger? 

Alderman. Yes. 

Joseph [dazed]. I can't believe it. 

Alderman. Oh, it's a disgrace — an utter, terrible 
disgrace. 

Joseph. The Confederates? What are they doing? 

Alderman. Johnson's forces are following McDow- 
ell's. The road is packed with fleeing men, artillery, and 
baggage wagons. Oh, the disaster is complete. [He 
ends with an exclamation of disgust and pain.] 

Joseph. Defeated! — The next move? 

Alderman. Fresh troops. 

Joseph. No escape from the conflict! 

Alderman. No, it must go on. The Union either 
lives or dies. And just now our country is facing her 
greatest crisis. [Joseph, in the bitterness of his soul, 
sinks into a chair with his head in his hands.] Come, 
come, this won't do. 

Joseph [dully]. Defeated! Washington in danger! 



The Inward Li^ht 109 

Alderman. I didn't come to tell you that. I've a 
message from the Governor. 

Joseph. For me.^ 

Alderman. Yes. He offers you a commission. 

Joseph [turning]. To a Friend? 

Alderman. He respects your religious scruples. 
But the country needs every man who will fight for her. 

Joseph. Surely the Governor knows I cannot fight. 

Alderman. He doesn't want you to serve in the fields 
but in an administrative position. [Joseph walks away 
in agitation.'] Men are flocking to the recruiting sta- 
tions. They'll be incensed when news of the defeat 
spreads over the country. There'll be plenty of volun- 
teers, and we must fit them out and stand behind them. 

Joseph. But why has the Governor chosen me? 

Alderman. He has been impressed in the last few 
months with your executive ability and power to handle 
men. 

Joseph [m distress]. I cannot consider his offer. 

Alderman [throwing his cloak over his shoulder, pre- 
paratory to leaving]. And you are willing to let other 
men enlist for a cause which you will not defend? 
["Joseph in violent internal conflict clenches his hands.] 
]\Ien laid down their lives for the Union today at Bull 
Run. 

Joseph [raising his hands in desperation]. And I 
sent them to fight an enemy I do not dare to meet my- 
self. 

Alderman [turning]. Will you accept the Govern- 
or's commission? 

Joseph [with an outcry]. No! 

Alderman. Is that the answer I'm to take back to 
him from an American ? 

Joseph [stung to the quick — crying out loudly]. 
Yes. Tell him I don't want his commission. 



110 The Inward Li^ht 

Alderman [shamed]. All right. 

Joseph [wildly]. But tell him I'm coming. I'm go- 
ing to enlist in the ranks. 

[Alderman understandingly grasps Joseph's hand, 
and wrings it. There is a wild crash of thunder. Al- 
derman hurries out. The wind is heard as the door 
opens and closes.] 

[In great excitement Joseph paces the floor. There 
is another crash of thunder and a flash of lightning. 
When the sound has rolled away, the rapid beating of the 
horse's hoofs is heard, fading quickly in the distance.] 

[Rachel, carrying her pelisse and bonnet, opens the 
door right, enters, and beholds Joseph's agitation.] 

Rachel [throwing her pelisse and bonnet on a 
chair]. Joseph, what has happened? 

Joseph [taking her into his arms and speaking rap- 
idly]. Listen, dear. Before I say anything else, I 
want thee to know that I love thee — that I shall never 
love anybody in this world but thee. 

Rachel [in anxiety]. Thee frig-htens me. 

Joseph [running on]. Thee is the beauty and glory 
of my life, and for thee would I give up everything I am 
or have. But dear, there is another love in every man's 
life. 

Rachel. I don't understand thee. 

Joseph. The greatest love of all. 

Rachel. Joseph, thee is beside thyself. 

Joseph. Love of country. I'm going to leave thee, 
dear, for that greater love. 

Rachel. What is thee saying? 

Joseph. We've been defeated. 

Rachel. How? 

Joseph. Today at Bull Run. The country is stag- 
gering under the blow. 

Ji hcu^L. [intuitively — with a cry]. Thee's not . . .? 

Joseph. Yes. I'm going to enlist. 



The Inward Light 111 



Rachel. No^ no, no ! 

Joseph. Can I stand by when my country needs me ? 

Rachel.. Thee knows what it will mean to father.^ 

Joseph. Yes, and to thee and to me. And that's 
why I'm bidding thee good-bye. 

Rachel [bursting into tears, and clinging to /im]. 
I don't want thee to go. See what has happened to 
Benjamin, and now thee, too! Oh, my dear, my loved 
one! 

Joseph [holding her close]. Little woman, don't 
make it harder for me. 

Rachel. But thee is a Friend, and conscientious 
scruples are respected. 

Joseph. Ah, Rachel, my own, if I were a Friend as 
thy father is, then might my scruples be respected, nay, 
more, might I respect them myself. But thy father 
was right. I have allowed the World to creep into my 
life — the great and thundering World that I am going 
to fight for, because I love it more than I love my 
church. 

Rachel. Thee cannot! Nay, thee will not! 

Joseph. What must be, must be. 

Rachel. The Meeting will disown thee. And I will 
lose thee and all. 

Joseph. Never will I cease loving thee. 

Rachel [with broken-hearted entreaty]. But think 
of me who need thee so much. Don't leave me. Don't 
go away from me — I am alone. I love thee. Thee is 
all that I have in life, or can ever have. — Don't go, don't 
go. 

Joseph [tenderly]. Listen, dear, there was once a 
Cavalier who wrote a poem to his beloved when he was 
starting for the wars. Thee knows the lines: 
" I could not love thee, dear, so much, 
Loved I not honour more." 
[Rachel breaks down and weeps.] Now when I go. 



112 The Inward Light 

let me see thee smiling, and send me forth as the Spartan 
women sent forth their men — to come back with their 
shields or on them. For that's the kind of woman I 
want thee to be. 

Rachel. I can't do it, I can't, I can't. 

[David enters from the left. With a violent effort 
Rachel composes herself, and turns right.^ 

David. I am ready now if ye are. Gladius is wait- 
ing with the covered carriage. Perhaps we can yet out- 
ride the storm. 

Joseph [wildly]. And may we all outride the storm. 
— David, thee did even now consent to my marriage 
with Rachel, because thee felt thee could forgive what I 
had already done. But this thee will not forgive if I 
know thee. 

David [alarmed]. What has happened? 

Joseph [rapidly]. Thee is of a school that will 
avoid battle because thy purity is so great it needs not 
the terrible heat of conflict to refine it. But I, David, 
am of the world, dross of its dross. My dream's bound 
up in old flesh that strives and struggles and falls and 
out of blood-letting and agony builds up such white habi- 
tation as it has. 

David [apprehensively]. Thee is distraught, Joseph. 

Joseph [with a cry]. Ay, distraught, when my 
country calls me and I must heed her call. 

David. Unhappy boy, what does thee say.'^ 

Joseph. I'm going to take Benjamin's place. 

David [terribly]. What! 

Rachel. Joseph ! 

Joseph. I have promised to enlist. 

David [with a cry]. Thee too is preparing to shed 
thy brother's blood? 

Joseph [torn with the conflict — crying out]. Ay, 
if my country demands it. 

David. No more shall thee come near me. 



The Inward Light 113 

Rachel [wringing her hands]. Father — Joseph — 

David. I see a torrent of blood rushing in between 
thee and me, and it is thy impious hand that has opened 
the flood-gates. 

Joseph. Oh, forgive me, thou most faithful among 
men. 

David [with utter broJcen-hearted finality']. I would 
cast thee out of my sight for ever. 

Joseph [pulling himself together]. Now, Rachel, I 
have only thee left. If we are to part, let me remember 
thee as a daughter of America. 

Rachel [steeling herself — swaying] . Go — Joseph 
— and fight — for — our country. 

[He sweeps her into his arms and hisses her. A tre- 
mendous clap of thunder is heard, stabbed by flashes of 
lightning, and the storm breaks.] 

[Joseph hurries from the room, slamming the door be- 
hind him.] 

[Rachel sinks to the floor.] 

David [flinging out his arms]. Oh the patience and 
forbearance of the Eternal! 

[the curtain falls] 



ACT IV 



ACT IV 

Scene : The interior of the Friends' Meeting House, 
— a small place of assembly hardly larger than a living- 
room. The scene is almost, but not quite, triangular in 
shape. There are three walls. That on the left is the 
shortest. The next shortest wall is on the right. It 
extends from the front of the stage on a considerable 
angle to the rear where it meets the longest wall of the 
three. The wall at the right represents the front of 
the room; the longest wall the side of it; the left 
wall, a small part of the bach. 

Along the wall at the right is a high desJc, which ex- 
tends almost across the front of the Meeting House, 
and is reached by three steps at each end. Below it are 
two high wooden pews, the upper one a step below the 
desk; the lower one a step lower still, but yet one step 
higher than the floor. The desk is for the clerk; the two 
pews, for the principal elders and the approved ministers. 
Over the clerk's desk, in the wall, is a high window of 
antique design. Through it the sunlight streams, light- 
ing up one portion and then another of the interior as 
the time passes. 

A little above the height of a man's stature on the long- 
est wall, but not occupying its entire length, is a small, 
narrow gallery. In the same wall, comparatively near 
where it joins the right wall, is a long small-paned win- 
dow reaching from the floor to the ceiling. In the same 
wall are two other windows which reach from the floor 
to the gallery and are then continued above the gallery to 
the ceiling. Nearer the front of the stage in the same 
wall is a small triangular structure, the apex coming 
into the Meeting House proper, and the two sides hav- 

117 



118 The Inward Light 

ing swinging doors which lead into the vestibule. The 
men enter and leave by the right hand door of these two; 
the women, by the left door. 

At the end of the gallery nearest to the left is a door 
which is supposed to lead by a set of steps down to the 
vestibule. This gallery door is directly over the vesti- 
bule doors on the floor of the Meeting House. 

Facing the clerk's desk and the two high wooden pews 
are the few plain wooden pews for the small congrega- 
tion. They are separated by a centre aisle which is at 
right angles to the high pews facing the congregation 
and is supposed to divide the room into two equal parts. 
As but a segment of the Meeting House is on view, the 
aisle runs down to the front of the stage at the centre, so 
that while the benches above the aisle, up stage, are en- 
tire, the front of the stage cuts the benches below the 
aisle, and only a portion of them is visible. The men 
sit on the upper side of the aisle, near the windows; the 
women on the lower side, near the front of the stage. 
Between the mens pews and the wall is a narrow side- 
aisle, and from the vestibule doors a cross aisle cuts down 
to the centre aisle. The junction of the centre aisle and 
the cross aisle affords a small unoccupied space at the 
centre of the stage. 

There are but three women's pews, the first one being 
the longest; the third is the shortest, having space for but 
two seats. Just to the left of the last women's bench, 
the main aisle reaches the front of the stage at the centre, 
where the cross aisle from the vestibule joins it. 

The benches are unpainted deal. One or two of the 
women's benches have a cushion of sage-green moire 
antique. There is a green carpet runner of sprig in the 
main aisle. In the open space where the main aisle and 
the cross aisle meet at the centre of the stage is a brown 
sheepskin. At the windows are green Venetian blinds 
and white shades. A little box is fastened to the railing 



The Inward Li^ht 119 

on the men*s side. In it are kept the minutes of the 
Meeting. 

It is the afternoon of Fourth Day (Wednesday), ten 
days after the events of the preceding act. 

Jonathan Lewis^ the clerk, is sitting at the centre of 
the desk facing the congregation. In the pew below 
him, a little to his right, is David Worthington, like- 
wise facing the congregation. Caleb Scattergood sits 
in the same pew at David's left, upstage. The lowest 
pew facing the congregation is unoccupied. 

In the first pew for women is Mehitabel Evans. In 
the pew behind her is Priscilla with little Harmony at 
her right. The last seat on the women's side, downstage 
near the centre, is not occupied. 

Little William Penn Lightfoot is in the front pew 
on the men's side, upstage. In the pew behind him 
Isaac Pettigrew sits. The other pews behind Isaac are 
occupied by a few other Friends, their faces shaded by 
their wide-brimmed beaver hats. 

In the gallery almost over the first pew for the men is 
Peter Alderman. He is in uniform and has taken his 
hat off. To his left is Gladius^ who also has no hat on. 

The women are in the costume of the Friends. Me- 
hitabel wears a grey silk; Priscilla also is in grey silk 
with girlish touches wherever she could weave them in. 
Both Mehitabel and Priscilla, and even Harmony, 
wear their bonnets, which they remove when they rise 
to speak. The men in the congregation and those facing 
them are in the usual garb of the Friends and all wear 
their hats, even little William Penn. 

As the curtain rises some of the congregation have 
their heads bowed as in prayer. Jonathan is bent over 
his desk, writing. 

There is an impressive silence; then Rachel enters 
from the women's door from the vestibule. She is dressed 
with rich but simple elegance, her gown being of lustrous 



120 The Inward Light 

black silk with a rippling skirt expanded over a crino- 
line. She comes down the cross aisle, and, amid the gaze 
of the congregation, takes her place in the last pew on 
the women's side, which is near the centre of the stage, 
the shortest one of the three. She removes her bonnet 
as she takes her seat. 

There is a pause. 

Jonathan [looking up and readjusting his specta- 
cles]. We have come to the Eighth Query in our testi- 
mony of Divine leading. The Eighth Query. [He 
turns to the paper in his hand.] Are ye faithful in main- 
taining our Christian testimony against all war, as in- 
consistent with the precepts and spirit of the Gospel.'^ 
[He sits down.] 

Isaac [after a short silence rises, and removing his hat 
lays it on the seat beside him. He is an impressive and 
reverent figure as he closes his eyes and speaks]. Baby- 
lon requires of us a song. Our captor shouteth and mak- 
eth merry. But how shall we sing the Lord's song in a 
strange land.^ Oh Zion, whence cometh my help? [A 
short pause, then with increasing exaltation.] Though 
horses and chariots encompass me about as the very sands 
of the sea-shore for number, yet on the wings of the 
morning will I fly to the hills whence cometh my strength. 
Though affliction bind me, my tongue shall cleave to the 
roof of my mouth ere I forget thee, oh Jerusalem! 
[There is a short pause. Isaac sits down, puts on his 
hat, and bows his head over his hands which rest on the 
top of his cane.] 

Mehitabel [after a pause removes her bonnet, show- 
ing the white lawn cap covering her hair. Rising, she 
stands trance-like, her hands hanging clasped before 
her]. Every heart hath its sabbaths and its jubilees. 
From the lowest waters of sin and despair it rises to 
mounts of transfiguration. Yet there are inscriptions 
written there which can be seen only >vhen the tides are 



The Inward Light 121 

out. [Raising her clasped hands to her bosom.] Ay, 
Lord, they are cut with the keen two-edged sword of 
Thine anger and Thy righteous judgment. [Holding 
out her hands as in petition.] There is no mercy but in 
Thy love. Yea, let them that furtively prowl in dark 
places crush the thorns upon my brow if only they may 
know the wisdom that lies in Thine eternal law and the 
beauty and harmony of Thy justice and peace. [Slowly 
she drops her hands. After a pause she sits down and 
puts on her bonnet.] 

Jonathan [rising and keeping his hat on]. We are 
in a time of great excitement when a heinous crime is 
being committed against the Lord and the teachings of 
His church. War is here. The sun is eclipsed by the 
smoke of battle. Many of our dead at Bull Run yet lie 
unburied. The Society of Friends must stand firm for 
the promotion of peace and the principle of non-resist- 
ance. We must hold fast to our faith. 

Isaac [rising, his hat on his head]. Yea, we are in a 
turmoil. But could the spirit and zeal of George Fox 
animate the Friends of today, they might rock this 
state, ay, and the nation too. Men wrestle in dark- 
ness ; they see not the Prince of Peace. 

Caleb [benignly]. But there's a glimmer of hope. 
The noblest things are often born of suffering. God 
can bring a lasting good out of the passing evil. 

David [rising as Caleb sits down, with head erect 
and covered. He has the appearance of one who has 
been driven by great storms, but is holding fast to his 
course though it is breaking his heart]. 

[As he begins to speak Joseph is seen through the win- 
dows walking toward the left on his way to the vestibule 
door.] 

Idle words and profitless. We have come before the 
Judgment Seat today to clear ourselves of the charge of 
following after Baal or not. [A deep silence rests upon 



122 The Inward Light 

the assembly. Isaac puts his hand to his ear.] Each 
in the silence of his own heart must answer the question. 
Thus for our spiritual purification have we answered 
these queries since the days of Fox. But not as indi- 
viduals do we come here this afternoon. Our Society is 
on trial. 

[Joseph has entered the vestibule.] 

Caleb [^gently]. Surely not all our Society^ David? 

David. Ay, it has a duty to discharge against such 
of its number as do violate its principles, and make its 
name a byword. 

Caleb [^mildly]. Is that duty so severe as to put our 
Society to its defence? 

David. Ay, for if we fail in it, we shall not only 
discredit ourselves, but make a mockery of the revered 
dead by grace of whose steadfastness we have survived. 
\^The tension in the Meeting House is growing greater.] 

Jonathan [leaning over his desk — to David]. Has 
thee a report to make? [Joseph enters through the 
men's door from the vestibule.] 

David. I have. [Pause.] And he whom it con- 
cerns is here now. 

[Joseph and David look at each other as if across a 
great distance.] 

[For a moment Joseph stands at the door while the 
eyes of all are bent toward him. Slowly, in the silence, 
he walks up the aisle, his hat on his head. Reaching the 
front pew, he turns to the right, and gently strokes Wil- 
liam Penn's head as he passes to the front pew facing 
the congregation and sits down.] 

Jonathan [to David, gently, as if recalling him]. 
We are prepared to hear thee, David. 

David [coming back to himself with an effort]. Ay. 
— There — there be many today who are drifting toward 
the world and its customs. Though but one meadowlark 
die, all Spring feels the lack of its singing. Though but 



The Inward Light 123 

one member leave our Society, we are all touched by it. 
For are we not all one bundle of life? \^He cannot go 
on.] 

Isaac [rising and quoting']. "And the souls of thine 
enemies, them shall he sling out^ as out of the middle of 
a sling." [He sits down.] 

David [resuming with more self-control]. When the 
obscure leave us, they leave a hurt here in our hearts. 
But none is so conspicuous in his conduct as he who by 
his uprightness, his strength and nobility of character, 
his devotion to his faith, and his influence in the com- 
munity, had won our most ungrudging esteem — ay, 
and love. [His arms are outstretched in yearning to- 
wards Joseph. Joseph bows his head. Slowly David's 
hands fall. He raises his head.] I mean Joseph Baring, 
as ye know. 

Caleb. But Joseph is still one of us. 

David. In bodily person, perhaps, but not in heart. 
In the last few months he has departed from the paths 
of his fathers, and is drawing others also. It is with 
deep concern and sadness that I bring in my report as 
ordered by you. 

Jonathan. Does thee prefer a charge? 

David [with difficulty]. Ay, I do. 

[Joseph starts to his feet and turns, gazing up at 
David. Suppressed excitement sweeps through the con- 
gregation.] 

Jonathan [to David]. Will thee specify it? 

David. He persists in his course, and will not turn 
back. He not only failed of the opportunity to 
ffive testimony against armed force before the Legisla- 
ture, but aided in forwarding troops. — All this I could 
forffive, ay, and did, thou^q;h my heart was wrenched 
within me. But this I cannot forsjive: as the crowning 
act of his disobedience, he has enlisted and will bear arms 
himself. [David sits down and hows his head in his 



124 The Inward Light 

arms with a gesture of intense grief. Joseph also sits 
down, his head bowed.] 

Jonathan [looking kindly at Joseph]. Has thee 
aught to say in thy defence, Joseph Baring? 

Joseph [looking up at Jonathan as he rises, — quietly 
and with repression]. David has given the gist of the 
matter. 

Jonathan [as Joseph remains standing]. Is there 
naught thee could add.^ [Joseph is silent — his fea- 
tures drawn and haggard.] 

Caleb [gently]. Speak, Joseph, that the Meeting 
may understand and weigh thy leading. 

Joseph [after a pause, as though communing with 
himself]. At any crisis man is lonely. The roads of 
the soul lie before him where no light is, and no hand to 
guide him. One is the settled path of his fathers, and its 
sunlit course promises a happy goal. The other is in 
shadows, and rises into mists decked with agony and a 
veil of stars. To what goal it leads he knows not, only 
that for him it is the loftiest that life can hold. Which 
path will he choose by the light which leads him on, he 
knows not whither.^ For both roads he cannot tread. 
[Coming hack to his auditors.] Ye are trying me today 
according to the custom of our Society. Why? Be- 
cause I have left the path of my fathers and am allying 
myself with the World's People in a great cause. Could 
I have gone so far, unless I had some inflaming love to 
recompense me — love that can soothe a tormented 
heart ; love that can free the captive ; love that can break 
all bonds ! 

[Gladius in the gallery is weeping softly.] 

[Rachel is drinking in Joseph's words as if she, too, 
were being led along the same path of suffering.] 
This is the thought that sustains me and my recompens- 
ing love, that there is no stronger or purer passion of 
the soul than love of country. It is the door to that 



The Inward Light 125 

love of humanity which some day shall make all the 
world free. In this struggle^ it is not striving for wealth 
or for land. Nay, but for a vision of human destiny 
in the heart of man that, in the words of President 
Lincoln, the weight may be lifted from the shoulders of 
all men everywhere. — Building its life upon this dream 
of freedom, our nation is assailed from within her own 
walls. She is staggering under mighty blows. She is 
calling upon her sons for defenders. Who will refuse 
to rally to her cry when in her defence the humblest 
becomes strong .f* We are at the turning point. We can- 
not let civilization slip back. Europe looks to us for 
direction. Wistfully history is waiting the outcome. 
The cause of liberty halts. — In this light I have left the 
sunny lowland road of convenience and well-being, and 
I have turned to the path on the mountain side. There 
I have found a new interpretation for our religion — a 
religion of love. If I have left one cause, I have taken 
up another and perhaps a greater one. For my cause 
is the preservation of our nation as the hope of the 
world. 

David [rising'\. Back of every human endeavour is 
the arm of the Almighty, which will give victory to truth. 
This is a struggle for men, for souls, and God himself 
will give us the victory as He did over the Assyrians of 
old, not with horses and chariots. 

Jonathan. Nay, David, let him complete his de- 
fence. — Speak on, Joseph. We would hear thy whole 
argument. 

Joseph [as David sits down'\. I have nearly finished. 
In this maelstrom, one seems very puny and doubts as- 
sail him. But our faith teaches us that each must follow 
on to the end with unflinching courage as his inward 
light reveals the way. Will he find more hate? Will 
the striving be worth while? Will the vision avail? 
[Pause.'] Ay, the spirit is indomitable. [Raising his 



126 The Inward Li^ht 

hand as if in the act of affirmation.] Yea, I affirm it. 
[His hand slowly drops,] I have seen Bull Run, and 
the faces of the dead. The glory of war is not there. 
It is in the hearts of men who will die that things may 
live which are greater than life. 

Jonathan [to Joseph]. I admit thy sentiments are 
lofty. Thee has not been prompted by a mean motive. 
But thee also knows thee is speaking contrary to the 
tenets of our Society. 

Isaac [rising]. The Friends must stand together on 
this question, and all that pertains to it. Unity in es- 
sentials must still be our motto. 

David [laboriously]. Isaac speaks — my — mind. 

Caleb [rising]. Don't let us forget that less severity 
of discipline has existed in our Society in the last quar- 
ter of a century, and disownment is rarely resorted to 
now. The bond of unity is of the spirit rather than in 
the outward expression. In the past, that we might 
grow strong, we needed to be separate and distinct in our 
communion, in our dress, and in our speech. But liberty 
in non-essentials now prevails, and in time we shall 
hardly know one another by the outward sign. The 
younger generation is realizing as our older one does 
not, that charity covers all. A new tolerance and a new 
vitality will come to our Society the more we exercise 
this principle. [With much sweetness and reverence.] 
I speak as an old man looking back over the life he has 
lived, and also glimpsing something of the future which 
is denied to him, but which will be the heritage of our 
younger members. The next one hundred years will 
determine whether the Friends' testimony against war 
will eventually prevail or not. [With some show of 
spirit.] I cannot but think that all great wars for lib- 
eration are in the ultimate view wars against war. — I 
am a Friend, born a Friend, but were I younger, brethren 



The Inward Light 127 

and sisters, were I younger, as Joseph Baring is, I fear I 
should be led to do as he is doing. 

Mehitabel [rising as Caleb sinks into his seat]. 
Yea, the precept of the Galilean is the ideal toward 
which the whole world is moving. I see it coming — 
ay, as tomorrow's sun. [She shades her eyes as if 
from too bright a light.] But not until men have wasted 
their lives, and generations have come and gone. Na- 
tions will rise and fall, but He that keepeth Israel neither 
slumbers nor sleeps. In His good time He will bring to 
pass that which He ordained from the beginning. 

David [rising]. This is no time to equivocate. Non- 
resistance is the fundamental belief of our Society. If 
we give that up, we are as mariners without chart or 
compass. 

Priscilla [springing to her feet and bursting out. 
The congregants look at one another in consternation. 
All the dignity of her future years shines through her as 
she speaks]. Thee would disown my brother! Thee 
would even strip him of all that he holds most dear ! 
But thee cannot stay the resistless spirit of youth, David 
Worthington! It is striving for an ideal just as thee is. 
Ay, it too hath a heavenly vision, and is faithful to it. 
[She stands bravely facing David.] 

David [looking at the young girl with tenderness, yet 
with the unbending firmness of a prophet]. There are 
many visions in the heart of man, my child; but this So- 
ciety hath but one vision. A man is either a Friend, or 
he is not. He cannot belong to the Society of Friends, 
and yet bear arms. 

Priscilla [with feminine logic]. Our people have 
been Friends as long as thine, David. 

David. Ay, and they rise up from their very graves 
to stand with me against their son who is violating the 
principles by which they lived. 



128 The Inward Light 

Priscilla [the tears starting to her eyes']. Thee 
would hold to a principle even at the sacrifice of my 
brother's life. 

David [with deep feeling]. Nay, Priscilla, say rather 
at the sacrifice of my own. [Looking down with 
thwarted love at Joseph.] For I had tenderly hoped 
thy brother would be the instrument whereby I might 
live into the future when this body should be no more. 
[Priscilla sinks into her seat sobbing.] 

Caleb [rising]. It is a serious thing to deprive a 
member of his birthright. Have we not come to a time 
when moderation should be employed instead of extreme 
measures ? 

David [with a deep feeling of indignation]. Extreme 
measures indeed ! Are not the precepts of our Society 
the extremity of all extremes.^ For these principles 
from the time of Fox down, have we not spoken wherever 
we could, in churches, in barns, at market crosses? For 
them have we not been pilloried and had our ears 
clipped? In the past two hundred years have we not 
suffered in prison and at the stake? Has any form of 
persecution that the brutality of an unenlightened age 
could devise been spared to us? All of this have our 
people endured with a constancy and patience that have 
won the respect of the world. And why have we per- 
sisted? Why? Because we believed we were a vessel 
containing a spirit of healing for mankind if they would 
but avail themselves of it. Ay, we have been a leaven 
for humanity. Call this extreme measures if ye will. 
It is but holding aloft the banner of an imperishable 
ideal. 

Rachel [rising, and facing her father]. Nay, fa- 
ther, thee is driven by an idea which in less tolerant 
times would have made thee too a persecutor. [Bitterly 
to the other Friends.] Oh ye lovers of ideas ! It is the 
spirit which gives life and the letter which kills. Aim 



The Inward Light 129 

for peace if ye will. But why turn from your paths of 
peace to harry one to whom greater calls have come, and 
who steps forth from the Meeting House into the great 
Assembly and the conflicts of the world? [With pas- 
sionate entreaty.] I am only a woman, unskilled in 
your argument, but one thing I know. That which 
women have known from the first shadows of time. Who 
stand at the place where your extremes meet in conflict, 
but we.^ Who so endure the agony of your contentions 
as we? Ye speak of how precious life is. Who knows 
it better than women? And what are ye doing now but 
destroying life? — thee, my father, striking at the man I 
love. But does thee strike at him alone? Nay, it is at 
me, at thine own stricken heart, unhappy man. Does not 
the grave of my brother, thy son, call to thee for mercy 
and for a moderating of this, thy ferocity of zeal? 

David [the tears rolling down his cheek s.] Nay, nay, 
oh, my beloved! It is the grave of that beautiful lad 
that calls on me to stand here, ay, though the heavens 
fall, and to utter my protest against that which brought 
him to his death. [There is silence of deep feeling in 
the congregation. No one stirs — as if the crisis of de- 
cision were being reached.] 

Caleb. Nay, David, wait. Perhaps a way will yet be 
found. [To Joseph.] Is there no doubt or anxiety in 
thy mind, no cloud obscuring thy vision ? 

Joseph. No, not now. I have pondered well. My 
heart has been torn by the conflict, but a greater pity 
has purged me of my fears. 

Caleb. But has thee no doubt as to the wisdom of 
thy future course? There's always a penalty for leap- 
ing ahead. Every step becomes a call to controversy. 

Joseph [with intense feeling]. Courage and fear are 
but a hair's breadth apart. I am willing, nay, glad to 
lay down my life, if that be required of me, that a united 
country and peace be our legacy to posterity. 



130 The Inward Light 

Isaac. Then thee will not retract? 
Joseph. Nay, I cannot. [With more firmness, yet 
reverently.] And God helping me^ I will not. 
Jonathan. This, then, is thy final answer? 
Joseph [with finality]. Ay, that a religion of peace 
and good-will is not incompatible with the righteous 
employment of force. 

Isaac and Various Other Voices in the Room [in 
tones of shocked dismay]. Oh! [Caleb sinks into his 
place with a gesture of hopelessness.] 

David [slowly rising and summoning his last reserve 
of strength for his duty as he sees it] . Can the issue be 
made more clear? [There is a complete silence of as- 
sent in the congregation. To Caleb.] I ask thee, Ca- 
leb, — on thy faith as a Friend. 

Caleb [after a struggle — with more feeling than he 
has ever exhibited] . Nay, he has spoken his own doom. 
I assent to his disownment. [A murmur in the congre- 
gation.] And yet, before all this Meeting, I say that he 
has behaved as I would have had him do. [There is 
complete silence.] 

Jonathan [slowly and with impressive dignity, let- 
ting each word sink into the minds of his hearers]. It 
is then the sense of this Meeting that Joseph Baring, 
having been given an opportunity to clear himself of the 
charge of advocating war, and furthering it directly and 
indirectly, and to acknowledge his fault, and refusing so 
to do, is disowned by this Meeting, and deprived hence- 
forth of all the privileges and enjoyment of association 
in the Society of Friends. 

[The following actions are simultaneous: Alderman 
in the gallery starts angrily to his feet, and, followed by 
Gladius, goes out through the door. Realization comes 
over Joseph like a blow. Isaac and the few congregants 
behind him on the men's side rise and confer in a small 
group in the aisle near the window.] 



The Inward Li^ht 131 

Priscilla [in tears]. Oh, Joseph! 

Rachel. Father! 

David [passionately — raising his head and looking 
up as in petition]. Why hast Thou required this thing 
of me? [Breaking down utterly.] Lord, Lord, af- 
fliction is upon me. I am in sore distress. My son in 
whom my eyes delighteth, on whom the mantle of oppor- 
tunity fell with such widening scope, the green tree in 
which nested all my dreams — now thee lies prostrate 
with broken branches, and it was my hand, the hand that 
loved thee, that cut thee down. 

Joseph [turning to David]. I have no bitterness to- 
ward thee, David. 

David [hardly hearing him]. Into a thousand pieces 
have I shattered the vessel that was more precious to me 
than life — the golden bowl is broken, the pitcher broken 
at the fountain, the wheel broken at the cistern, and life 
forevermore is a thing of potsherds. Now is my hope 
lost for ever and I am alone. 

Rachel. Father, thee will not let this stand! 

David. On the great pages of time it is marked — in 
letters of blood and fire for all to read. 

Caleb. Calm thyself, David. Grief o'ershadows thy 
soul, but the hour of fate has not yet broken upon thee. 

David. Oh, Caleb, it is the end for me. 

Rachel [to Caleb]. What happiness was mine, 
Caleb, and now what despair ! 

[Joseph in his place involuntarily stretches out his 
arms toward Rachel; then he turns toward the windows 
with stony features.] 

Caleb. Ay, girl, life continually wavers between 

happiness and despair, and it was thy ill-fortune to 

stand, as thee said, where the conflicting forces met. 

[Jonathan meanwhile has come down from his desk, 

and placed the minutes of the Meeting in the minute box. 



132 The Inward Light 

He then moves toward the front of the stage. The con- 
gregants are leaving the room.] 

Harmony [to Priscilla]. Don't cry, Aunt Priscilla, 
thee makes me cry too. 

William Penn [sturdily — to Priscilla]. Never 
mind, I'll pertect thee. 

Priscilla [laughing through her tears and half 
smothering the little fellow in her impetuous embracel. 
My brave defender ! 

[Isaac comes to the front of the stage by the cross- 
aisle.] 

[Alderman and Gladius behind him enter from the 
men's side of the vestibule door.] 

Mehitabel [taking Priscilla comfortingly in her 
arms]. Come, Pjiscilla. [Harmony and William 
Penn cling to Priscilla's skirts.] 

Alderman [to Isaac]. Couldn't you have left him 
the comfort of his religion.^ 

Isaac [not without sadness]. Nay, it is the rule of 
the Society. 

Alderman. But to disown him! 

Jonathan [regretfully]. It was to prevent others 
from following the same course that an example had to 
be made. 

Priscilla [coming to them with fire]. He is better 
out of the Meeting than in it. And if I did not want to 
give you the satisfaction, I would leave it myself, you 
holy saints ! 

Mehitabel [shocked]. Priscilla, thee does not know 
what thee is saying. Come, children. [The little group 
move toward the vestibule.] 

Harmony [sedately — at the vestibule door as she and 
Mehitabel, Priscilla, and William Penn go out]. 
'Pears to me Friends don't like war, 'cause they fight so 
much themselves. 



The Inward Light 133 

Jonathan [holding up his hands]. Out of the 
mouths of babes — ! [Jonathan and Isaac go out. 
In a few moments they and the others are seen passing 
hy in front of the windows.] 

Alderman [to Joseph — who is now at the centre]. 
You are serving in the greatest adventure that time has 
ever seen^ in the loftiest cause that has ever been given 
to man. That should be some consolation. 

Joseph. It is. And yet my loss is great, too^ Peter. 
[Alderman turns away and walks toward the door.] 

Gladius [coming forward]. When Ah was a young 
man in Africa, Ah toted a spear an' shield in de elephan' 
grass by de big rivahs. Ah was a fightin' man, too, 
Marse Joseph, afore de slavehs done cotch me. 

Joseph. Thee has had sad memories, Gladius. 

Gladius. Yassah, but when white men lak Marse 
Joseph gwine to fight foh black men lak me, Ah fergits 
all de sad mem'ries^ and looks way down where Ah sees 
mah people free. 

Joseph. They will be free, Gladius, if we can make 
them so. 

Gladius. Kin Ah salute you, sah, lak a fightin' man.^* 
[Joseph hows his head, much moved. The old man 
raises his right hand.] Ah wishes yo' well in de bat- 
tle. [He then turns and follows Alderman out into the 
vestibule and presently they are seen passing the win- 
dows.] 

[Joseph stands irresolute looking to the left where 
David, Caleb and Rachel are grouped. Then he turns 
to go out.] 

Rachel [with a cry of pain]. Don't go. 

Joseph. Thy father and the Meeting have decreed 
it. 

Rachel [turning toward her father and Caleb], 
Father, Caleb, hear me — 

Dayjo [unhappily]. Silence, daughter. 



134 The Inward Light 

Rachel. Thee makes me desperate. I'll go with 
Joseph if thee will not reinstate him. 
Caleb [gentlyl. It is too late for that. 
David [sadly]. The scorn and reproach of the world 
and of thy people will be thine. Does thee realize that, 
Rachel? 

Rachel. What are they to me? Love is a woman's 
heritage. Thy religion, father, places vision before 
duty. 

David. What have I left but vision? My business 
gone, though that were the least. My boy, he who alone 
could perpetuate my name, dead; and he who was the 
hope of my heart gone the way of the Gentile hosts ar- 
rayed in battle. Thee, too, the very apple of my eye, 
the spirit that sustains me, deriding me, — what else 
have I left? 

Rachel [close to him and speaking gently]. Father, 
don't be harsh with me if I can't see as thee sees. An- 
other duty calls me. It is the vision I see before all — 
to cleave to him who is the partner of my soul until death 
do us part. [He shakes his head.] I am thy daughter, 
father, thine own flesh and blood — I want thy consent. 
[David still shakes his head.] 

[In the far distance the music of a brass band is 
faintly heard. Moment by moment as the scene pro- 
gresses the sound swells, becoming sweeter and more 
distinct.] 

Rachel [alarmed as the faint roll of drums and the 
music of the fifes increases]. That sound? 

Joseph. Soldiers — marching to the train. 

Rachel. But thee? 

Joseph. I do not go for a month. 

Rachel [with a last entreaty]. Father? 

David [in refusal, vearninq toward the two and rent 
with the struggle]. Nav, not in sternness to thee, oh 
my darling, nor to Joseph, but that I may keep the fajth, 



The Inward Light 135 

Rachel [to Joseph]. Then I will go with thee, Jo- 
seph, if thee will have me as I am, disowned by all save 
my love for thee. 

Joseph [raising her hands to his lips]. Thy love 
were consolation for all the tears and hurts of this life. 
[His arm supporting her, they move toward the vestibule 
door.] 

David. First my son — now my daughter. As Job 
am I bereft. 

Caleb [standing by him and touching him gently on 
the arm]. Time will heal thy wounds, David. The web 
of life is an endless surprise, for the loom takes the 
rough and the smooth and weaves them into a beautiful 
tapestry. [Amid the music, as Rachel and Joseph go 
out into the vestibule.] The world is full of love, 
David. Waters cannot quench it nor can the floods 
drown it. 

David. Thee will stand by me.^ 

Caleb. Ay, until the last roll is called. There will 
be grief-stained battlefields, but at last the end will 
come. 

[Rachel and Joseph are now seen passing in front of 
the windows.] 

David. And Peace? [For answer Caleb raises his 
hand and points into the distance.] 

David [his face uplifted and shining as if also see- 
ing that to which Caleb is pointing]. Yea, the long 
trailing years will pass. Still dews of quietness will wa- 
ter the earth, and in the fulness of time the vision will 
come to pass. 

[As the two old men gaze out upon the vision, and 
Joseph and Rachel pass along the street in front of 
the windows to the right, the band swells into the strains 
of the " Star Spangled Banner," and 

the curtain slowly falls] 

END OF the play 







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